


Johnson County Blues

by Nemhaine42



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Western, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gun Violence, Modern Western, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ranching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemhaine42/pseuds/Nemhaine42
Summary: The West can still be a little on the wild side and Steve gets caught up in more than he bargained for, but he might wind up being perfectly okay with that. Completed fic, updates every Wednesday.





	1. A Far Green Country

Steve Rogers stepped off the train with a crick in his neck and that stiff, numb feeling that comes from sitting too long. Back in the military, he’d slept everywhere and anywhere the chance arose. But now, not so much. He was sidestepped by two of his fellow passengers getting off the train; a wizened old lady with a very large cat basket, and a man in overalls who hadn’t seen a razor i n around thirty years. He looked around the tiny platform, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The station building had probably been there since the railroad first came here, but had been patched up and repaired so often that none of the original timber was left. Waiting on the corner of it was Sam Wilson. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was leaning on the wall next to a still running SUV. 

 

Sam had been in the Air Force, as opposed to Steve in the Army, and they’d met after both had left, at a Veterans’ Association meeting in which Sam had been the peer counsellor. At the time, Steve had felt guilty for being there. He was still healthy and whole, where some of his friends had not been so lucky. But meeting Sam had been a lifeline for Steve all the same. 

 

Sam had taken a year out from the VA, wanting to come out west for a summer and aiming to be back by Christmas. But he’d gone and met a wonderful woman and landed a good job at the town high school - as a guidance counsellor cum gym coach - and decided to stay. He’d invited Steve out ostensibly to be best man at his upcoming wedding, but there had also been mention of private construction work that was available. Steve got the impression it was a ‘two birds, one stone’ situation. Sam gets his best man, and Steve gets a change of scenery. ‘It might give you some direction,’ Sam had said. So here he was, pulling into Convergence, Wyoming with a duffel bag full of clothes and a single pair of boots. 

 

“Hey, man. Long time, no see,” Sam grinned and the two men met with a tight hug . “Good trip?”

 

“I’ve had worse. Glad it’s over though.”

 

“You gotta be hungry, right? Nat got the night off, there’s steaks waiting for us at home.”

 

Dinner and a bed sounded awesome, so they quickly hopped into the car and made their way through town. Convergence was a small place, although growing little by little, tucked into a valley where a highway and a railroad met at the end of a mountain pass. It was a far cry from the Brooklyn he’d left behind. Now he found himself in the kind of town where few buildings had three stor ies  and everyone knew everyone else. Sam waved at a lot of the people they passed. Steve glimpsed the school where Sam worked, and a hospital, both of which probably served the whole county. At the start of fall, the sun was setting - further obscured by the mountains in the distance - by the time they pulled into Sam’s driveway. His was a little dormer house on the other side of town, with pale green cladding and a knee-high wooden statue of a falcon by the front door. 

 

As soon as they set foot in the house, there was the homely smell of their dinner wafting through from the kitchen. A petite redhead appeared in the hallway and greeted Sam with a kiss. She shook Steve’s hand as they were introduced, and Steve was a little surprised by how firm it was. He already knew Natasha Romanov was one of the local police officers and punched well above her weight, but Sam’s emails and messages had always described her as, well, a bit of a dork. And here she was sultry, spoke softly, yet firm in a way that brokered no arguments, leading Steve and Sam to the dining room. 

 

After dinner and dessert, Sam slid a scrap of paper with a phone number and ‘Tony Stark’ written on it. So far, they’d made conversation about Sam and Natasha’s wedding plans, or what Steve had been up to in the past but now they had come to the main reason Steve had come all the way out here some months before his duty as best man was required. According to Natasha, the Starks were a local family done good. They did a lot of charity work, and funded a lot of local institutions that kept Convergence from withering in the shadow of bigger cities. They owned one of the best, though not the biggest, ranches in the state of Wyoming - The Lone Star Cattle Ranch -  and were responsible for the dinner on their plates that evening. There was some small scale construction work being done that needed a helping hand, and Sam had put a good word in for Steve. All Steve had to do was give them a call and ask for the job. He felt a little forward, phoning the man when he might still be at dinner, out of the blue. But his call was answered and before long he was hanging up again with the slight sensation of having bitten off more than he could chew. There had been some kind of inquisitorial feeling about the whole thing. 

 

“So, what’d he say?” Sam asked, after Steve had returned to the table. There was coffee ready waiting for him and he took a big gulp, never mind the scalding heat. 

 

“He said we can ‘scope each other out’ tomorrow, if I can get a ride out there?” Steve said, not managing to shrug off the uncomfortable mood of the phone call. It had been like he was being tested, like there were about half a dozen other people listening in. 

 

“Sure thing,” Sam agreed to drop Steve off at the ranch before heading to coach Saturday Soccer at the park. But Steve retained an air of introspection, and Natasha fixed him with a steady stare. 

 

“He seemed kinda skittish, though. That normal?” Steve asked, shifting a little in his chair. 

 

“I hear Stark gives potential employees the third degree these days,” Natasha said almost conspiratorily, “ever since Stane he rarely trusts anyone.”

 

“Who’s Stane?” 

 

Natasha leaned forward, holding her hands out and excited to start what she clearly thought was a saga. Steve instantly felt like he was in some fantasy movie or other, the hapless hero about hear the tale that would set the course of the story. There was a feeble little idea that he should get out before he became embroiled in some local scandal. But he shook it off as nonsense, he was just tired and listening to a mix of contextual history and gossip. 

 

“Obadiah Stane,” Natasha began, “The ex-foreman. Worked at Lone Star for decades, back when it was run by Howard Stark and Peggy Carter.”

 

“Tony’s father,” Sam cut in, “and  _ not _ Tony’s mom.”

 

“They were business partners. The ranch has been in the Stark family for generations but Stark Industries was founded as engineering works - parts for farm equipment - but they moved into engines for airplanes and army vehicles during the second world war, which was where Peggy Carter came in. After the war, they won military contract after military contract and it made them billions.”

 

If that was the case, why on earth was Stark doing his rebuild with ranch staff? With big money at his disposal, surely he could bring in a design team and construction company. But obviously that was only the beginning of the story and Natasha continued. 

 

“So years pass, Carter goes into government, Howard keeps the business going but he needs someone to take care of the ranch. He brought in Obadiah Stane. Everything goes well for years. Then, Howard and his wife die in a car accident. Now, with hindsight, lot of people around here started to talk about whether or not Stane had something to do with it. So far, there’s no proof of that.

 

“Anyhow, Tony takes over the business, he lets Stane continue to handle the ranch. Now ranching isn’t as big business as it used to be, but that was okay, it’s not a huge scale thing at Lone Star. But the money just wasn’t coming in. And it just got worse and worse and worse. Enough to make Tony think about selling it off to cover the deficit. But a couple of years ago, Tony’s wife found out Stane had been embezzling money. And we’re talking about  _ hundreds _ of  _ thousands _ of dollars. That’s why the place had been such a sinkhole. Tony confronted him about it and Stane shot him in the chest,” Natasha dramatically mimed firing a gun with her fingers, “Set fire to the foreman’s cottage while Tony was still in it.”

 

“What? How’d he get out?” Steve asked, even after his years in the military he was still a bit shocked at his fellow man’s capability for brutality. 

 

“His missus had called two of their buddies before Stark went out there and followed right behind. They stopped Stane making a break for it and got Tony out.”

 

“I heard Stark’s lady got Stane with a cattle prod,” Sam said, in an impressed voice. 

 

“I can neither confirm or deny this accusation,” Natasha said with a wink, smirking with satisfaction at her story, “It was a close call, Stark was in the hospital for a long time and he’s never really been the same again, even with things starting to look up. They couldn’t save the house though. That’s what you’ll be rebuilding.”

 

Steve let out a whistle. It was quite a tale, like something out of the Wild West. Sam dug out an old newspaper, showing him articles about Obadiah Stane’s arrest and speedy trial for attempted murder, as well as ones about Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts taking over as CEO of Stark Industries in place of her husband. There were still pending fraud charges on Stane but, because the investigation was still ongoing, Natasha couldn’t divulge much more about it. 

 

They spent plenty of time with Sam and Natasha filling Steve in on each other’s exploits over the last year or so. Sam told him about all the hijinks country kids got up to in high school, including, but not limited to, driving several towns over to buy a brood of chickens that were then set loose in the school building on graduation day. Or when they’d ‘acquired’ one of those mechanical riding bulls from some place and raised money by trying to break all their damn necks. And the embarrassment of having one of his senior pupils tow his old hatchback out of a snowy ditch and all the way to school with their ancient pick-up truck. Natasha’s stories involved fewer teenage antics and more bar fights. 

 

When it was time to hit the hay, Steve was introduced to possibly the creakiest pullout bed west of the Mississippi. Even so much as scratching his nose and his futon let half the neighbourhood know about it. But he settled down with a sigh and a squeak and tried not to let his brain chatter away too much. He wondered if this really was the thing to be doing, carting himself all they way out here for a job he’d never considered before, in a landscape that was alien to him. He hoped that once he got into it, some of the out of place feeling would dissipate, otherwise he’d miss Bucky and Clint something awful. 

 

***

 

Sam dropped him in front of the large farmhouse first thing that morning. ‘Farmhouse’ was probably a bit of a misnomer: the house sprawled out into several wings, at least three stor ies high, with classy looking granite and slate. It had been built in stages, rather than all in one go, the evidence of generations of success and renovation. With nicely-trimmed trees around the yard, and hens pecking away underfoot, it made for a pretty picture. The front door opened and onto the porch strode a man that Steve assumed was Mr Stark; middle-aged, middling height, he had a thin black goatee and wore a neatly pressed burgundy shirt with dirty jeans. A strange mix of a rich guy and one who worked hard for a living, who swaggered slowly with the confidence of a man who ruled all he surveyed.

 

“Mr Stark? Good morning,” Steve chirped, standing to attention before he could catch himself, “I’m Steve Rogers. I called about the, uh, construction job.”

 

Stark stepped down off the porch and held his hand out for Steve to shake. Just as he clasped the proffered hand, Stark raised his eyebrows and said, “ _ Captain _ Rogers, isn’t it?”

 

“Steve’s fine, sir.”

 

Stark gave him an apprehensive look and started walking him around the property, giving him a clipped overview of what they did at the ranch, what Steve might be expected to do beyond construction. He asked him all the reasonable questions - what sort of experience he had with livestock, machinery, record-keeping - but every time he answered, Steve got the impression he was being sized up rather more thoroughly than was normal for a ranch hand. They hopped into a bashed-looking white pick-up and Stark told him they’d drive out to the construction site. Steve wondered if he was expected to already know he was helping to rebuild the foreman’s cottage, or why it needed rebuilding in the first place. Stark wasn’t saying. Steve sat somewhat tensely in the passenger seat, wanting to think of some way to make conversation but coming up empty. They followed a lot of well-worn farm tracks, through pastures with either newly harvested crops or herds of chunky cattle. Stark honked the horn and waved out the window to a group of guys tearing down a rotten old fence, before turning to Steve with the still piercing gaze.

 

“So, what brings you all the way out here anyway? It’s not exactly local for you, New York to Wyoming…”

 

Steve shrugged, “Fresh start, I guess, and a change of pace. Got out of the army, couldn’t go back to the old life. A friend said there was work out here, figured it was as clean a slate as any. At least for a while.”

 

It was an honest enough answer, if not an in-depth one. 

 

“That’ll be Sam Wilson. Your friend?”

 

“Yes, sir. He worked here about a year ago.”

 

“I remember. He did a spring and a summer before he landed the job at the school. Solid guy.”

 

They pulled into a driveway surrounded by overgrown bushes and parked next to a pile of charcoaled wood. In the centre of a neglected garden lay the foundations of the foreman’s house and the beginnings of the new timber framework. Stark explained that this was all his existing staff had managed until now. There’d be more time for it now they were heading into the fall, but Steve was still needed to lighten the load. Stark didn’t look at him much, just gazed sadly over the empty plot and knee-high weeds. 

 

“With all due respect, sir, how come you’re doing this all in-house, so to speak?” Steve asked, smiling a little at the pun. Stark didn’t budge, just turned to look at him like he was trying to spot a hair on his head moved out of place. “Not that I’m complaining. But why not just bring in a construction company?”

 

Stark considered him a moment longer and looked down at the burnt out wood lying in piles around the garden . “Let’s just say I’m not big on trusting outsiders. Which you technically are but it’s a lot easier for me to vett one guy than it is to look over a whole construction outfit. Don’t tell me the grapevine’s letting you down already, Rogers. If you’re in with Sam Wilson, surely Natasha told you all about Stane?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Tony. You don’t need to call me sir.”

 

“Habit,” Steve shrugged. 

 

For the first time, Stark cracked a tiny smile and gestured to the meagre start of the house, “Well, job’s yours if you want it. If Sam’s vouching for you, I reckon you’re not here to rob me blind.”

 

“Thanks, boss,” Steve said. They shook hands once more and climbed back into the truck. On the ride back, Stark was much more vocal, spouting off about which building was which, more details about the operation of the ranch. He’d be given a couple of uniform shirts, with the ranch’s logo on the front, but he could generally wear what he wanted. There was room in the bunkhouse if he needed it, which made more sense than sleeping on Sam’s couch. 

 

They arrived back at the house and Tony beckoned him inside, through a soft and clean hallway to a large kitchen where he could hear people setting up for lunch. A long wooden table filled most of the space, with benches either side. Though the granite countertops looked classy, there was a distinct feel of a kitchen in constant, hectic use. There were large sinks and bulk packs of household items. And there were two beautiful women setting the table. He was introduced to Tony’s wife, the elegant and willowy Pepper Potts, and a shorter, curvier young woman. She had dark hair that draped in loose waves over her shoulders and smooth pale skin. Stark stood behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders. 

 

“This is my daughter Darcy,” he said, sounding prouder than he had of any part of the ranch . “She’s handling payroll and paperwork until this foreman mess is fixed. She’ll sort you out so you can start on Monday,” he tilted his head to look at Darcy, “Sweetie, can you set the new guy up, please? He’ll need the bunk Thor ain’t using.”

 

“Sure thing, Dad,” she said with a little bit of an embarrassed smile, and started towards the back of the house. Steve followed and left Tony in the kitchen where he began whispering to Pepper. Darcy lead him down a hallway, padding in her socks on the wooden floor. Steve looked down at his own boots and wondered if he should have left them on the porch. Darcy stopped at an oak door and turned to see Steve inspecting the floor and his own feet. 

 

“Don’t worry, you’re not actually trailing horseshit through the house this time, so you’re fine. But next week it’ll be boots off indoors for sure.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,”

 

“Ugh, don’t call me that: Darcy,” she screwed up her face mockingly. She opened the door to an office cluttered with stacks of paperwork. There were invoices and account books that looked like they were years old, piled up on every available surface. Tucked into corners Steve could see bagged up documents marked ‘EVIDENCE.’ Darcy booted up a sleek new computer that sat on a heavy, old-fashioned desk and dug out a form for new starts from the filing cabinet. 

 

“Sorry about the mess,” she said, handing him the form and clearing a space at the desk. 

 

“Looks like one helluva job…”

 

“Yeah… but it needs doing when a guy embezzles thousands of dollars from your father’s business,” she said sadly. 

 

Steve filled out his form; bank details were pretty standard, his medical stuff took up plenty space - he’d been a real sickly kid - and he’d put ‘James Barnes’ as his next of kin for lack of any other option. If he was kicked half to death by a steer, he wasn’t sure what Bucky was going to do about it - back in New York and missing an arm - but they were brothers all the same, just not in blood. Darcy dutifully copied his information into the computer, periodically firing off questions or reading him the rules. No boots in the main house or the bunkhouse. No smoking in the barn. What size of shirt did he need? Did he have a clean driving licence? There were times for breakfast, lunch and dinner but he wasn’t obliged to attend. There was no official curfew but he’d be playing catch-up all day with no sympathy if he didn’t get a decent amount of sleep. With a couple of signatures and a photocopy, he was ready to roll. 

 

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” Darcy said with a wink, “We can move you in tomorrow if you like, otherwise just bring your gear on Monday.”

 

Tomorrow suited him fine, he wasn’t really enjoying being ferried around by Sam. He’d feel much more at home when he could get his motorbike brought out. And bunking with a host of other guys wasn’t exactly new to him. Darcy filed his paperwork and they headed back to the kitchen where the population had swelled. There was the smell of cheese sauce and fresh bread wafting over the heads of several work-worn guys; those he’d seen pulling up fence posts and a few more besides. 

 

“Everyone say hi to the new guy!” Darcy hollered, “This is Steve. Steve, this is everybody.”

 

There were several simultaneous calls of greeting and he was introduced more specifically to some of the other guys who were working on the house. Brock Rumlow and Grant Ward had been on the ranch for a few years now, from just after the whole Stane business came to light. And Thor Odinson, who had started earlier in the year to support himself and his girlfriend. Thor had done the majority of the rebuilding work so far, and Steve could see why. Thor was a good half-head taller than him and a fair bit broader in the shoulders, like he could give a draft horse a run for its money. Ms Potts steered Steve to a seat at the already crowded table, where he found himself next to Darcy. They were close enough that their calves touched under the table. But Darcy didn’t react and Steve figured she was used to being in close quarters with the guys. 

 

A lot of information was thrown at him over lunch, which Steve tried to boil down to basic facts: Darcy had finished a Political Science degree in the spring, Thor was an electrical engineer, and his other half, Jane, was a theoretical astrophysicist. A title greatly at odds with the tiny, haphazard looking woman in sweatpants. Rumlow and Ward tried their best to fill him in on the daily grind, teasing him about getting him on a horse or encountering bears and wolves. It made Darcy roll her eyes and shake her head. 

 

“They’ll try to teach you how to wipe your own ass but don’t let them get away with it. They’re not the boss of you, Dad’s the boss of you,” she whispered, leaning in while Rumlow was deep into some story about cattle rustlers. Steve noticed that Tony’s studious gaze only let up for his daughter or his wife. The rest of the table was subject to the same guarded stare, though it seemed to go unnoticed. 

 

Once they’d eaten their fill, the other workers filed out with a nod of thanks to the ladies and got back to the rest of their day. Tony wavered about following them or staying put to watch Steve who was kind of at a loose end. 

 

“You got someone to pick you up, or you need a ride into town?” he asked. 

 

Darcy piped up before Steve could answer, “I’m going to the store anyway, I can drop you.”

 

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great,” Steve said. This way he wouldn’t have to hang around until Sam finished work or squirm under Tony’s scrutiny. Tony looked from Darcy to Steve and back again before nodding, grudgingly. He gave Pepper and Darcy each a kiss and headed on out the door. 

 

“You, uh, need a hand washing up?” Steve offered, to which both women grinned brightly. The ladies set him to sweeping the floor and putting things away on high shelves. Darcy washed pots and pans, and Pepper loaded the dishwasher. 

 

“Our caretaker, Mr Jarvis, does this through the week,” Pepper explained, “but he’s not so easily charmed by young gentlemen.”

 

“He’s probably sitting in his room waiting for us to get the hell out of here so he can do it his own way,” Darcy said, with just a hint of pink in her cheeks. After drying her hands, she grabbed a long grocery list and a small jacket from the hall, and stood in the kitchen doorway. Pepper took the sweeping brush from Steve and used it to shoo him in Darcy’s direction. She led him out and around the other side of the house, to a large multi-car garage that was home to a veritable menagerie; from trucks that had been beaten every day of their lives, to restored classic roadsters. Barring the vintage cars, and an enormous dark green Pinzgauer, all the vehicles had the Lone Star Ranch logo on the side: a white star with gold outlines over a light blue circle. 

 

“There’s spare spaces if you have a car or anything,” Darcy mentioned, punching in a code at a wall-mounted safe. It opened to reveal a carefully arranged and colour-coded array of keys, presumably for all the cars. But Steve was sure he could see one labelled ‘gun case’ as well. 

 

“Uh… I’ve got a bike but it’s still in a storage unit in New York,” Steve said, a bit forlorn. The lack of his own transport was sure to grate, but he also simply missed the bike, “I’ll get it shipped out eventually.”

 

“Well, when you do, it can have a home here,” Darcy picked out a big grey SUV and clambered up into the driver’s seat. 

  
Steve kind of liked the sound of that. 


	2. Put The Blood Back In Your Limbs

Steve wandered the centre of Convergence a little while, after Darcy dropped him on her way to the store. He figured he’d get familiar, memorize a few streets and store names that he might need later, and then wander over to the park so he could find Sam. The town centre didn’t amount to all that much; a bank, a few small scale stores and restaurants. The people he passed were polite, if perhaps they left him with a sense of being whispered about. He’d thought about going into the bar for a drink but reconsidered, thinking everyone in it would drop into silence and turn to stare at the outsider. He was pretty sure he saw the forty-niner from the train come out of it.  So he kept exploring at a gentle pace, with half a mind to send Bucky a text boasting about how he’d gotten a girl’s number within twenty-four hours of arriving. Which was kind of true, since Darcy had hijacked his phone and put her number it. She’d also stuffed in numbers for most of the other ranch staff but Bucky didn’t need to know that part. 

 

He stumbled upon an old townhouse with a decently sized bronze statue outside of it, and worked out that it was a local history museum. The statue was apparently of one of the town’s founders who had gone on to be a county sheriff. Steve had never heard of him. But he still had time to kill so in he went. Which rather surprised the silver-haired old man working the entry desk, who snorted awake at the sound of the door. 

 

“Just you?” the old man asked, snuffling into his moustache and peering around Steve as if there ought to be a friend or a family in tow. Steve bought his ‘just me’ ticket, figuring that would be a recurring theme in his life out here, at least for a while. 

 

Most of the main section of the museum was a small hall with boards covered in photographs and information going all around the walls, starting with the Native American peoples who had originally inhabited the area, through the beginnings of the territory of Wyoming and the formation of Johnson County. He saw a picture of a tiny, ramshackle hut which would eventually become the Lone Star Ranch, complete with blurry figures of Stark ancestors. As he kept going he found whole boards dedicated to Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, the success of the company helping to boost the local economy before and after the Second World War. Steve stood for a while, looking at the photo of the enigmatic Ms Carter. He thought back to when Sam had specifically said that she wasn’t Tony’s mother, since she looked one helluva lot like Darcy.

 

Natasha hadn’t been kidding when she’d set the Stark family up as local stars, there was a picture of a much younger Tony as the winner of some rodeo or other and, of course, the newspaper articles about him being shot.  Steve was hit with a pang of vague longing, thinking that surely within his lifetime there’d be another little board with Darcy’s picture on it. He would probably be long gone by then, just some guy who blew through town. He finished up looking around, glancing over the information about regional wildlife. He waved at the old man at the desk on the way out, though the guy had fallen asleep again. 

 

He bought a latte at a coffee place across the street, thankful that he didn’t get any ‘out-of-towner’ stares. The people inside seemed to be a lot of the town’s teenagers who looked much too young to be drinking coffee. He found an unoccupied bench on the edge of the park, with a distant view of the soccer field filled with hollering children and a whistle-toting Sam. The park wasn’t fenced in, except for where it ran close to the river, but simply continued out into the landscape and Steve, for all he was a city boy, thought that this would be a great place for a kid to grow up. He nursed his coffee, and then fidgeted with the cup until Sam finished up the game and waved him over. 

 

“So, how’d it go?” Sam asked with a grin, out of breath from chasing and corralling his little charges. 

 

“I can move into the bunkhouse tomorrow, start on Monday,” he answered. “Thanks for the good word, by the way. I think that counted for more with Stark than anything I said.”

 

Sam waved him off and gathered all the equipment - little numbered vests, mini traffic cones, and a few soccer balls - into a big hold-all that had already seen every kind of weather. Parents in cars drove off beside them, honking horns and waving. Kids too, around eight years old or so, waved enthusiastically at Sam and he waved back. 

 

“You meet Darcy yet?” Sam asked, slinging the bag into the trunk then waggling his eyebrows. 

 

“Yeah, she dr- what’s that got to do with anything?” Steve said. 

 

Sam shrugged, feigning innocence, “nothing. She just looks like she might be your type, is all.”

 

“Can you let me get my stuff unpacked before you start setting me up with people? You’re as bad as Bucky,” Steve complained, half-heartedly. Bucky had always gone to a lot of effort to find Steve dates, even when Steve had kind of given up on that sort of thing. 

 

“Okay. But you thought about it, right? C’mon, man, she’s nice. And cute.”

 

“Maybe…” Steve looked away, afraid the smile on his face would give away that, yes, he had thought about it almost right away. Darcy was exactly the kind of girl he’d imagined lazing around on a couch with late at night, with her using his chest as a pillow. But immediately zeroing in on the boss’ daughter as soon as he arrived would probably not have done him any favours. If an opportunity arose for Steve to get closer to her, he’d take it but that wasn’t why he came all the way out here. 

 

“Ah, you’ll get there. You’ll get there,” Sam told him, climbing into the driver’s seat. To Steve’s relief, Sam dropped the Darcy thing, instead getting Steve to fill him in on any news from the ranch: which guys were still there, how far along the house had gotten. And he gave Steve abundant details of how he and Natasha were getting to use the ranch grounds for their wedding reception. A marquee was going to be put up where everyone could have a drink and a dance without burdening Convergence’s one small hotel with their large guest list. Steve hadn’t thought it would be a tiny little wedding but the size was starting to sound a little intimidating. The Best Man had to give a speech, after all. 

 

He was saved, sort of, from over-thinking that one by their arrival back at Sam’s house, where Natasha had Steve go over his interview in immense detail. From if he saw the actual plans for the house, right down to whether or not Tony had been wearing sunglasses. 

 

“You know, Steve, Tony’s daughter is a nice girl. She’s been single since the spring,” Natasha drawled with raised eyebrows. 

 

Steve groaned and threw his head back, “Not you too.”

 

“We’re already way ahead of you, babe. For once,” Sam said, laughing, and kissed Nat’s cheek. 

 

***

 

Steve arrived bright and early the next morning, after sleeping on Sam’s pull-out once again, to find the ranch already bustling. A lot of faces from yesterday bid him good morning as they went about their work, looking like he’d showed up halfway through the day. Darcy was sitting waiting for him on the porch step, in a blue henley and cowboy boots. The boots made her denim-clad hips sway distractingly as she lead him over to the bunkhouse.

 

It was a fairly large homestead, that had likely been used as the main house before the larger one had been built, with a swing-seat on the porch and a stained glass panel in the front door. And inside there was comfortable-looking, if a little worn, furniture, a cork noticeboard with rosters and schedules and a few idly thrown darts. The whole place had plenty of the clutter that came with being inhabited by working guys. Darcy showed him the kitchen and laundry room, pointed out the bathrooms, and then took him upstairs to his allocated bedroom. Steve was getting a smaller room to himself, rather than sharing with someone else, which suited him fine. He still had the odd nightmare and wasn’t too keen on sharing it with his new colleagues right away. 

 

“It’s kinda messy,” Darcy apologized, “I keep telling ‘em to straighten up this place but…” she shrugged.

 

“Ah, I’ve seen worse,” Steve said, although he reconsidered that estimation when he looked through the open bathroom door and saw a large collection of cigarette butts in sand-filled bucket next to the toilet. 

 

“It’ll take a week or so for your shirts to come. I ordered a fleece for you too, seeing how you’ll be working outdoors most of the time,” she told him, “but you shouldn’t really need them that much. Dad only really cares if the guys are going to town on errands, accountability or some such. Just wear what you want if you’re staying here.”

 

Steve supposed that was fair enough, a man didn’t build up a good reputation by letting staff do whatever they liked, and it was necessary to have a way of identifying his ranch-hands. Steve set his duffel bag down on the bed and cast his eye around his new home for the foreseeable future. It was indeed a small room, with a single bed and a chest of drawers, both of which looked a little old fashioned. But the mattress felt new when he sat on it, with not a single squeak out of it. Darcy - leaning on the doorframe - giggled when he bounced up and down a little. 

 

“Cosy,” he said. 

 

“Sure,” she flipped her hair a little, “so… you can hang out and get familiar the rest of the day if you want. But, uh, I figured - this being a ranch and all - that you could use a horse riding lesson.”

 

“Is there much call for that these days?” Steve asked a bit uneasily. He’d assumed the days of actual horse-riding, lasso-throwing cowboys were long gone.

 

“Sometimes. Terrain’s not always on our side, especially in the winter. And horses spook the cattle less than quad bikes or the trucks so…” she shrugged, “but we also just ride ‘em for fun.”

 

“Right,” Steve agreed a little hesitantly, but never-the-less followed a grinning Darcy back downstairs and outside. She lead him around the back of the bunkhouse towards a stable building. Inside there were several empty stalls with hand-painted plaques with the names of horses that were either on a job or out to pasture. Some of those names were not ones Steve might have chosen if  _ he _ were naming horses. ‘Yu’, ‘Space’, ‘Rescue.’  ‘Sleipnir’ stood out, and had the largest stall, and some poor unfortunate creature was going by the name of ‘Dummy.’

 

There were two horses still there, already saddled up and waiting. Darcy bypassed them initially, and grabbed two stetson hats from where they’d been left lying on a hay bale. She put the white, smaller one on and flung the larger, navy blue one towards Steve like a frisbee. 

 

“Hat’s for you,” Darcy told him, “It’ll keep the sun out of your eyes and make you look less like a city boy.”

 

Steve smirked and put the hat on, tipping the brim towards Darcy. She laughed at him, then untied the nearest horse - a dapple grey mare - and lead it a little ways up to a mounting block.

 

“Steve, meet Liberty,” Darcy gently stroked the horse’s muzzle and invited him to do the same, “she’s real calm and steady but she’s kinda lazy and likes to eat every chance she gets.”

 

Sure enough, as Steve continued to pet her, Liberty started nibbling experimentally on his jacket.

 

“I’ve never actually ridden a horse before, you know,” he admitted. Darcy shrugged and told him that she’d taken that as a given, which was why she picked Liberty out for him in the first place. A quick glance to his left and Steve thought he was probably better off this way than with Liberty’s absent neighbour, ‘Daredevil.’ Darcy instructed him step by step through getting into the saddle, feet in the stirrups, heels down. How to hold the reins, how to go, how to stop. He must have shown a little of the nerves he was getting, feeling a bit precarious perched up high, because Darcy reassured him that, no, he was not going to fall off. Liberty had had plenty of novices on her before and wasn’t going to throw him. Darcy’s chestnut horse was called Elektra and, as she climbed into the saddle, Steve shot her a puzzled expression.

 

“Who names the horses around here?” he teased, half serious.

 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not me,” she chided, “mostly it’s Dad.”

 

“Sleipnir?”

 

“That was Thor. Sleipnir’s a draft horse, which we don’t have a whole lot of need for. We were fostering him for an animal rescue shelter - he used to belong to some jerkwad who didn’t know how to take care of horses - then Thor got here and, well, a big guy needs a big horse, I guess. It was love at first sight.”

 

With a bit of a kick - “you don’t have to be too gentle, Steve, she’s way bigger than you,” - they left the stable block and headed on out. Liberty followed Elektra as they plodded gently towards a trail. After some initial wobbliness, the ride became a pleasant undulating gait that Steve settled into.  

 

“I meant to ask,” Steve called, Darcy slowed her horse so they could talk beside one another rather than single file, “Thor? Is that… Norwegian or something?”

 

“Icelandic. His folks still live there, it’s where he grew up. They learn English so well over there it’s kinda hard to tell,” Darcy explained, “His brother has an  _ immaculate _ British accent, you wouldn’t even notice. I heard them facetiming one time.”

 

“So how’d he wind up all the way out here?”

 

Darcy described how she’d met Jane first and that they had both met Thor in college. Thor understood a lot more about physics and astronomy than his appearance might suggest and he and Jane talked science to one another more than they did romance. Steve asked careful questions, scoping out what was a touchy subject and what was fair game: talking about Stane too much was a no-no, and Thor’s family wasn’t a great ice-breaker. But Darcy was a lot more inclined - or so it seemed to Steve - to give strangers the benefit of the doubt than her father was. And Steve felt he was on safer ground putting his foot in his mouth around Darcy than Tony. 

 

“So they’re not married, Jane and Thor?” Steve asked, feeling a little cheeky. It wasn’t really any of his business, he knew, but he was catching up on information.

 

“No. I mean, maybe someday,” Darcy said, shrugging, “Jane’s pretty dedicated to her research for the time being and I don’t think either of them can actually afford their own place, never mind a wedding.

 

“What about you? You don’t have someone special waiting for you back in New York?” Darcy asked, almost too nonchalant.

 

“Nah. I’m not… I was never very good at that sort of thing,” he admitted. 

 

He gazed out into the distance. The trail had taken them far out onto the ranch’s land, cresting a ridge that looked down on the whole spread of the property. There were thick outbreaks of forest and the town of Convergence nestled in between. From up here he could see some of his new colleagues working away across the ranch. He was sure he could see Thor brushing down a very large, blue roan horse just beyond the bunkhouse. Steve turned back to Darcy and saw her appraising him curiously.

 

“So why  _ are _ you out here? Nobody just up and moves from the Big Apple to this place for no reason.”

 

Steve shrugged and looked away again, “uh… desperation, no offense.  Maybe that’s not the word I’m looking for. Before… I was so busy getting into the army, I never considered what I’d do coming out the other side and I guess I got kind of got stuck in a rut. Don’t really know what I’m looking to do with my life. My friends didn’t get out of our tour as well as I did. And I guess they didn’t want to see me languish. Not when I could be out doing something.”

 

Darcy nodded in understanding.

 

“Either that or they got sick of looking at me,” Steve joked. 

 

“How long are you thinking you’ll stay?”

 

“Well, Sam and Nat get married in the spring, so at least until then,” Steve shrugged, then turned to grin at Darcy, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be like Sam and find a local girl to settle down with…”

 

But Darcy clearly wasn’t one to sit back and let someone else do all the sassing, “ah, then I’ll let old Mrs Brubaker know that that fourth husband she’s been looking for might have just rolled into town.”

  
She pushed Elektra on and zipped away down the other side of the hill. 


	3. A Little Fear Upon My Back

Monday morning came abruptly at 5am, with Steve’s alarm needing two or three attempts to be silenced. By the time he’d staggered into some clothes and hauled himself down the stairs, most of the other guys were up and running. Back in the army he wouldn’t have been caught dead getting out of bed last, and hopefully he’d get back into the swing of it, but ever since returning to civilian life getting moving everyday had become harder and harder. The first few hours of the day consisted of Steve following Thor’s lead, trailing along behind him to breakfast, to which truck they were taking, which supplies they’d need, all the way out to the building site. Thor gave him an overview of Stark’s plans and as soon as Steve could blink he was screwing support struts into the framework. 

 

Every now and then a truck would trundle past on the dirt road, with a honk of the horn and quick wave from the window. Steve would look up just in time to see the tailgate of the vehicle bouncing along and kicking up dust behind it, completely missing out on who had just greeted them. Thor was always quick enough. 

 

They worked until noon, then drove back for lunch, where everybody else was as worn and sweaty as Steve. Except Darcy who, though her hair was tousled and her cheeks a little pink, looked bright eyed and content. She sat opposite Steve this time, and he had a hard go of it trying not to stare; her blue eyes and rosy lips were as pretty as can be. Sam had been right. Darcy _was_ cute and just the sort of curvy that never failed to catch Steve’s eye. She smiled at him, and teased a little about whether or not Thor was working him hard enough, batting her eyelashes at him. But before long, Steve was back up to his knees in sawdust, and hammering down just about everything in sight. Steve considered himself a fit and active man, but keeping up with Thor was a task and a half, and by the time dinner rolled around he had only enough energy to shovel something hot and home-cooked into his mouth then drag himself back to the bunkhouse to rest his weary bones. 

 

For the first couple of weeks, all Steve did was get up, work, eat, work some more and then fall down in an unwashed heap on his bed. There was the occasional shout for him to help move the cattle to one pasture or another, or to muck out the stables, or drive the truck to town on errands. But mostly he was deep in the overgrown garden, hammering and sawing and lifting and sanding. His blisters had blisters, and every night left him tired and achey but the good kind, that came from pulling his weight and pitching in. With the day off on Saturday,  Thor tugged on his arm one Friday night and didn’t let Steve stagger back to the house for dinner. Instead he lead him over to one of the older trucks - black, with plenty of dings and scratches - where Ward and Rumlow were getting ready to go out for the evening. They interrupted some light bickering about who was going to be the designated driver and Steve put a smile on the other men’s faces by telling them he’d drive. 

 

“We’re going to ‘The Bus,’” Grant told him, climbing into the passenger seat, “Head into town and out the other side, I’ll tell you where to go.”

 

Rumlow got in the back section of the cab and Thor squished himself in too, muttering about how it might have been better for him to sit in the flatbed. As per the warning Darcy had given him on his very first day, Grant Ward never let up telling Steve how to get to the bar. He even went so far as to trying and ‘coach’ Steve around country roads. Steve kept to himself the bitter comment that the roads out here were a damn sight better than they had been in Afghanistan. 

 

‘The Bus’ turned out to be exactly what it sounded like: a large 1950s’ school bus that had been stripped out and turned into a bar, a sort of jerry-rigged interpretation of a food truck. It was parked in front of a cabin that housed a kitchen and a tiny dining room. Far more numerous were the sheltered picnic tables surrounding the place, to which the guys lead Steve, sitting at one which would allow a bunch of tall, long-legged men to stretch out. It was the edge of fall and the setting sun still warmed everyone enough until one of the waitresses built up a bonfire in a pit towards the middle of the space. A different girl - whose nametag said Beth - came and took their order for dinner. It was hearty, basic food and Steve spotted a note at the bottom of the menu that said all the beef they served came from the Lone Star Ranch. He idly wondered if there was a restaurant or diner in the county that  _ didn’t _ get their meat from them. Beth brought their drinks from the bus, skirting around other patrons waiting on the raised deck for their own. 

 

Steve was given a potted history of the joint; the site had started off as a boarding school run by missionaries for native kids, then been a mainstream religious school for most of the twentieth century. It had been in use for decade after decade, until it burned to the ground in 1969. It had lain derelict and forgotten for many years and in the mid-80s some bright spark had rescued the bus and opened a bar. 

 

Thor fiddled with the condiments, presumably having heard this story before already. Rumlow, like Ward, talked to Steve like he was some wet-behind-the-ears kid. Okay, he was pretty green at ranching but, hell, he’d been a US Army Captain. Maybe Ward and Rumlow had missed that memo. Steve could only wait for an opportunity to bring that up without coming across as a total jerk. Thor did it for him, in the end, though apparently the grapevine was even better at talking  _ about _ Steve than it had been at talking  _ to _ him. 

 

“Must be quite a change from the armed forces, eh, Captain,” Thor said, slyly. Steve froze with his soda halfway to his face, “I hear you were decorated.”

 

Rumlow and Ward took that hint to shut up and stared at Steve, almost daring him to make a big deal out of himself. Steve nodded and sipped his drink, trying not to look at anything or anyone in particular, “Silver Star. Purple Heart.”

 

“Purple Heart’s for injuries, right?” asked Brock, raising an eyebrow, “What’d you get a Silver Star for?”

 

“Bravery. Beyond the call of duty,” Steve said meekly. He hated this bit.

 

“What’d you do?” Ward asked.

 

“My convoy was ambushed, held captive. I helped us get out alive,” Steve told them, hoping they’d drop it. But they all kept staring at him, silently wishing him to continue, with a mixture of curiosity, excitement, and respect, “It wasn’t pleasant, guys. It’s not really polite dinner conversation.”

 

Beth came with their food, saving Steve from explaining further, and Ward and Rumlow tucked it. Thor, however, held his gaze. 

 

“You’ve killed men?” he asked. Steve nodded. Thor’s voice was low and somber, “does it not weigh on you?”

 

“Yeah,” it wasn’t something Steve was particularly proud of. But that answered that and he didn’t speak again until he’d cleaned his plate. 

 

***

 

Dust. 

 

And heat. 

 

And a tinny stereo. 

 

Dust. Fear. Tight. Torn the map. Too hot. Sand, can’t see. Don’t know, no cover. Crash. Explosion, dust, heat, pain, smoke, fear. Gunfire, smoke, shouting, fear. Hot blood, hot sand, smoke, screaming, coughing, gunfire, gunfire, bomb, fear, fear, fear. Dark. 

 

Steve woke up in a sheen of sweat, his heart in his throat and a nightmare pounding at the inside of his head. Every nerve was on edge, and he could hear even the slightest creak of the old bunkhouse. He turned on the lamp and took deep, ragged breaths that only became smooth and calming after a good few minutes. He stretched the muscles in his neck and shoulders, forcing the tension out of them, and telling himself he was safe. Alone in his room, but able to pick up the other men’s snuffling and snoring, a wave of loneliness hit him hard. He knew the drill by now; he wasn’t going to get back to sleep - not without the feeling of bones giving way under his hands flooding his memory -  so he might as well get up and do something. Maybe he’d clean up a bit downstairs, Darcy was always pecking at the guys to be tidier about the place. But as he resigned himself to wakefulness, he heard the distant sounds of the horses making a ruckus in their stable, like something had them spooked. 

 

Steve hauled himself out of bed and shuffled out to check on them before they woke up anyone else, pulling on whatever clothes he could grab without looking. He found the stables all locked up just like they should be, but the horses were all awake and antsy inside. One of them looked especially awake, alert, like it had been out. And when Steve put his hands on Lola’s saddle it was warm. 

 

“Is someone in here?” Steve called out. But all he got was the snorting and breathing of the horses, and a few creaks from the old building. He waited a good few minutes, listening hard, before his hackles went down and no boogeyman was going to jump out at him. Maybe a cat had got in or something. But he was still wide awake and now, with nothing else to concentrate on, images of his nightmare flashed past his eyes again. 

 

He wiped one hand down his face and sighed, wandering over to Liberty’s stall where the horse nuzzled up to him. Again she tried to take nibbles of his shirt, and Steve lent forward to rub his nose on her snout. 

 

“I check on you, you check on me, huh?” he said, petting her cheek and along her neck. 

 

Liberty was a steady comfort and good company, not minding when he whispered melancholy nonsense to her. Steve stayed, absently stroking the horse and never mind the time. The sun crept over the horizon and he took no notice, nor of the slow increase in mutterings from every animal on the ranch as day broke.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Hm!?” he startled, head snapping up at Darcy’s voice. She was standing in the doorway, light pouring in around her, and looking at him with concern. It was morning, and not the weak snoozy morning of dawn either. Darcy’s eyes crawled up and down him and he flushed a little in embarrassment. He was only wearing the clothes that were lying around when he’d gotten up, and was frozen there in jeans, boots with no socks, and a red plaid shirt with no tank top underneath that he had not bothered to button up. 

 

“Are you okay?” Darcy asked, worry plastered all over her features. 

 

Steve coughed, and rubbed at his weary eyes, “yeah, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged “I, uh, heard these guys making some noise and came down to take a look but… guess it must have been an animal or something.”

 

“So you stayed out here all night?”

 

“Yeah, I…” he cleared his throat, “sorry.”

 

“No, it’s fine, just, you weren’t at breakfast, I, we worried where you were.”

 

Steve tried to pretend that didn’t feel good to hear. Of course the new guy disappearing in the night would be cause for concern, but he liked that Darcy worried over him. He only wished he hadn’t gotten so unfocused as to stay out till morning. 

 

“Did you want to go for a ride today?” Darcy asked him, “Or do you wanna go catch a nap?”

 

He’d feel it later, not taking a nap, but he didn’t want to miss out on a single second that could be spent with Darcy. She sent him back to the bunkhouse to put on real clothes, while she grabbed a flask of coffee from the kitchen to take with them. Thankfully there weren’t too many other people around to see him half-dressed, only Sitwell and Trip who gave him odd looks as he bustled into the bunkhouse. He dashed back out again in record time, with mismatched socks, and hurried to meet Darcy. She was standing ready by the stables, with a small bag of leftover pastries and a couple of apples, as well as the promised coffee for his breakfast. 

 

The horses took them on a different trail, though still winding up on the same high ridge as last time just from another direction. By the time they got there, Steve was sorely missing his sleep and made no protest at the cup of strong coffee Darcy pressed on him. This time they could see two men - looked like Thor and Trip - making a temporary repair on a fence post. Sitwell seemed to be counting heads of cattle. 

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Darcy asked, munching on a croissant and getting flaky pastry down her shirt.

 

“I’m fine, I promise,” he insisted, “Just thinking too much, that’s all. You could help with that though, if you keep on talking. Distract me. Tell me all about Darcy Stark.”

 

She smiled shyly, “Darcy Lewis.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“My surname is Lewis, not Stark. It’s my mom’s family name. 

 

“Ms Potts isn’t your mom?”

 

“No, she’s my stepmom,” Darcy told him, “My dad was still pretty young when I was born, his parents died and he had their crap to take care of, including this place. So mostly I grew up in California with my mom. I spent near enough every summer out here though, fishing, horse riding, shooting cans with an airgun. I never really considered myself a country girl, or that I was cut out for ranching. But I got out of college and kinda ran out of steam, I suppose… There weren’t many jobs around for PoliSci grads, and what there was I didn’t really want all that much. So right now, I’m helping Jane do what she’s gotta do, which mostly involves having access to a space with no light pollution. Thor working here makes it rent-free so she’s pretty happy. And me, I’m just waiting for… I dunno, inspiration or something.”

 

Steve hummed, “I know a little of what that’s like.”

 

She gave him a sympathetic smile and kept them trotting around the ranch. Darcy kept on chattering, just like Steve wanted, taking his focus off the things that had gone bump in the night. Steve was getting the hang of the horse, if he did say so himself. Liberty mostly took her cues from Darcy and Elektra, the only instructions she really took from Steve being when he tugged back on her reins when she wanted to snack on long grasses. But he was relaxing into the whole thing, figuring he could take a liking to it. Darcy made it look so easy, she and the horse practically reading each other’s minds. Steve chuckled at Darcy’s stories all the way back down the hill - she told him the story of actually meeting Thor in the first place; ‘grazing’ some drunk guy with their car, tasering him, then taking him out for coffee - until her phone trilled out obnoxiously with an AC/DC track announcing her father was calling. She frowned at whatever Tony was saying and, when she hung, up told Steve they’d have to head back a little faster, if that was okay with him. She summarised how he ought to ride the horse while trotting and zipped off ahead. 

 

When they returned to the ranch, Tony was waiting by the stable door and, perhaps not realising Steve had gone riding too, looked at him with the same eagle-eyed stare as when he’d interviewed Steve. He pushed himself off the wall and followed the pair of them into the stables to take the gear off the horses. 

 

“When you’re done I need you to find the records with tag numbers and head out to the far west pasture. Sitwell double-checked and we’re missing a few,” Tony instructed to his daughter.

 

“When did that happen?”

 

“Last night probably. Rumlow spotted a fence down first thing, they probably got out that way,” Tony sounded terse and Darcy took a swift guess why.

 

“They got out or they were let out?” she asked. 

 

“Not sure.”

 

“Hm, well, if it was last night, Steve heard some noises,” Darcy offered, turning to Steve, “Didn’t you?”

 

So far he’d been pretending to just get on with unsaddling Liberty and brushing her down, although the proximity of the conversation meant he couldn’t really convince anyone he hadn’t heard. Tony was practically glaring a hole in him, like Steve getting up in the night had somehow allowed some livestock to vanish.

 

“Uh, yeah, I got up,” he admitted, nervously petting Liberty’s nose, “I heard the horses making a noise and came down to check ‘em. Everything was where it was meant to be, though. And I didn’t hear any cattle.”

 

If anything, his answer just made Tony more suspicious, “Right. You just happened to be up the same night three of my heifers get taken.”

 

“Dad!” Darcy chastised, “You said you don’t know if they got taken. Maybe it was wolves, and that spooked the horses, which were close enough for Steve to hear.” 

 

“I…” Steve began, faltering a little when both Darcy and Tony swiveled to look directly at him, making him stand a bit straighter, “I thought Lola looked like she’d been out. Her saddle was warm, and she was, I don’t know, more active than the others. That’s all I saw.”

 

Darcy frowned and Tony shuffled his feet a bit, deciding whether or not Steve deserved to be tied to a chair with a spotlight just yet. 

 

“What time was that?” Stark asked. 

 

“Around three-thirty, I think, sir.”

 

Tony spun on his heel and headed back out, without much more than a subtle nod that Steve would have missed if he had so much as blinked. Darcy informed Steve she’d probably be at her father’s beck and call for the rest of the day, so he should take a nap. Or, if he really wanted to earn a brownie points, he could help Pepper set up for lunch. She patted his arm, then she dashed back outside and made a beeline for the office to dig out those records. 

  
Steve stood watching her go, a little pained that his ‘Darcy-time’ was at an end. But he promised to sneak Liberty out something to eat at lunch, and wandered back to the bunkhouse to wash. As he opened the door and paused to toe off his boots, he noticed large muddy swipes on the mat that had not been there before. Not when he’d gone out to check the horses and not when he’d darted back in for riding clothes. Someone had wiped their dirty boots but none of the boots lying on the porch had fresh mud on them. There didn’t seem to be much of a trail either. But just like a warm saddle in a locked barn, there wasn’t much he could do with indiscernible bootprints. There were all kinds of reasons for having muddy feet on a ranch, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Steve had seen any of the other guys flouting some of the rules. It was just odd. 


	4. Rocks And Water

A call came through around mid-morning on Monday from Brock, asking Steve and Thor to bring their truck over to the creek and help tow out their stuck one. The missing cattle had been found but recent rains had swelled the river and the cows had gotten stuck on the other side. Brock and Grant had spotted them across the water and tried to coax them over and into a trailer, which had promptly gotten bogged down in the riverbank and, along with the truck hauling it, refused to budge. Needless to say, the cattle hadn’t been convinced of anything and were making increasingly unhappy noises at the people trying to get at them. Steve and Thor pulled up just as Grant was pulling his mud-coated leg out of the quagmire, having fruitlessly tried to push the trailer up while Brock spun the wheels further in. 

 

Thor hopped out of the truck, striding over and patting his biceps, “fear not, friends! All is not lost, I have arrived.”

 

Steve laughed and shook his head, fully believing that Thor was capable of pulling the truck out with his hands, and grabbed a tow rope from the back of the flatbed. It was straightforward work, tying up Brock’s truck to theirs and gently hauling it back out of the mud, trailer and all. Steve had done the driving and was now the only one not caked in brown, claggy mud. There would be a line in the bunkhouse for the showers, sure as hell none of them were going to be allowed in the main house before they’d been scrubbed clean, they might even go so far as just hosing the guys down outside the barn. 

 

“So what about them?” Steve asked, nodding towards the still stuck cattle, who were munching on the tall grass growing on the riverbank, “how do we get them across? If they won’t swim and we can’t get the truck close enough…”

 

“Call Darcy, have her bring horses,” Thor suggested. Brock and Grant hummed and hawed a little, muttering something indistinct about doing it themselves. Steve raised an eyebrow at their lack of enthusiasm, he personally would take every opportunity to watch Darcy on a horse, even if it achieved very little. Thor waited only a few moments before pulling his phone from the back of his jeans and getting Darcy on the other end. 

 

“You got something against Darcy? Or you don’t like a lady telling you what to do?” Steve asked, his voice a little icier than before, after Thor was out of earshot. He’d seen plenty of that before, guys who didn’t like taking orders from a woman. Both men shuffled their feet and grumbled incoherently.

 

“You wouldn’t like it either if you spent years working this place, only for Stark’s little princess to come swanning in like she runs it,” Rumlow complained, “She never bothered with the ranch before, but now she needs to ‘find herself’ she’s here playing cowgirl.”

 

Steve frowned and stared hard at Rumlow, “Well, right now she’s the one making sure we all get paid. You still getting paid?”

 

“Yeah,” Rumlow grumbled.

 

“Well, to me that constitutes at least partially running the place. So I wouldn’t complain all that much,” Steve told him. Both men quickly shut up when Thor turned back around to inform them Darcy would be along soon. Thor then set about unhooking the trailer from Brock’s truck - as per Darcy’s instructions - and instead attach it to his own. He passed along a message to Brock and Grant that they ought to just head back and get cleaned up, but neither man looked inclined to do it. They stayed and made themselves useless, sitting in the sun so the worst of the mud baked into their jeans. The approaching sound of hooves on the dirt track caused them to finally get up and climb into their truck, driving off before Darcy and Tony could get there and barely slowing to wave at them. Tony turned in the saddle to glare at them as they trundled back to the ranch, but Darcy just gave a deep sigh and ignored them. 

 

“There you are!” she cooed, and it took Steve a slow second to work out she was talking to the cattle across the water rather than him, “See, Dad. They just got out for an adventure.”

 

“Just because I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me,” Tony grumbled. He gave a resigned, gravelly sigh as he surveyed the whole mess in front of him; the cattle stuck, the trailer with a new muddy paint job, and Thor in equal need of a bath. Maybe Brock and Grant had had the right idea, high-tailing it out of there before Tony could stare them down. 

 

“Okay, kid,” he said to Darcy, “time to get our feet wet.”

 

Stark was wearing beat up old boots with motor oil dripped all over them, but Darcy’s looked relatively new. Good for riding, not for muddy riverbanks. She pouted a little before shaking her feet out of the stirrups and somewhat awkwardly pulling off one boot, then the other, then stuffed her socks inside them. With a quick “think fast” she tossed them to Steve, and slotted her feet back into the stirrups, wriggling her toes. 

 

Tony rolled his eyes and walked his palomino down to the river, Darcy pushed Elektra to do the same, leaving Steve and Thor watching from dry land. The water was wide and slow, deep enough that Darcy’s chipped red toenail polish skirted over the surface of the water. But the horses, it seemed, were no strangers to wading and steadily plodded across the river and out onto the opposite bank. Tony circled back behind the cattle, herding them down into the water. They went haltingly, and Darcy turned Elektra back to guide them across. When all three heifers tipped their noses up and began lumbering through the water, Thor snapped to attention - he opened the trailer and stood to one side so none of the beasts would try to sneak past. 

 

With a bit of jostling and noise, the cattle went up into the trailer, happy to get away from the river. Tony shook the worst of the water off his feet and Darcy walked Elektra over to where Steve was standing, still holding her boots. 

 

“I told you, horses are where it’s at,” she said, smiling down at him. He realised he was staring like a guppy, with his mouth hanging open and handed back her shoes. Then he rushed to the flatbed of his and Thor’s truck, pulling out a towel which wasn’t the cleanest but it was certainly dry. He wondered if he was being too bold as he gently put one hand to Darcy’s ankle and rubbed the terrycloth over her toes. She was cold where her feet had been in the water, but the skin was soft. No blisters or rough patches on Miss Darcy. She squirmed a little at the tickling sensation but otherwise just sat in the saddle, biting her lip and allowing Steve to dry her feet and put her socks and boots back on for her. 

 

A terse cough stopped Steve lingering by Darcy’s side.

 

He stepped back and his eyes darted from the towel to Darcy and then to Tony’s unimpressed stare. Steve stood up a little straighter, twisting the towel in his hands, and gave Tony an awkward smile. 

 

“You want your feet dried too, Dad?” Darcy teased, not failing to notice Steve’s discomfort. 

 

“Not unless Rogers wants a boot in his face,” Tony grumbled. Then he switched demeanors entirely, turning to bark orders, “Thor - make sure those cattle get put into the barn. I’ve got Doc Banner heading out to check ‘em over. Then get yourself cleaned up. Rogers, put the hose to the trailer and tell Rumlow to do the same to his truck. Darce - you’ll give these horses a good wash down. Alright?”

 

Three voices affirmed their instructions. Thor and Steve hopped back into their truck and drove back towards the ranch, passing Darcy and Tony’s horses with more care than Rumlow or Ward had shown. Once the two riders were small enough specks in the rearview mirror, Thor turned to Steve with a knowing smile. 

 

“Do not fret over Stark,” he said, “He gets cagey whenever men wander too close to his daughter, but that was nothing compared to what Ward got the first time he tried to flirt with her. You are a good man, you and Darcy would be a good match.”

 

Steve didn’t really know what to say, and just settled for nodding mutely. Little butterflies formed in his chest thinking about himself with Darcy. 

 

***

 

Lunch that Saturday was heralded by a deep, rumbling roar from the garage as Steve rolled up to the main house on a large motorcycle. It had arrived on the Friday evening, shipped out after much to-ing and fro-ing and a sizeable dent in Steve’s paycheck. But here she was, cleaned up and checked over; a piece of home and Steve couldn’t wait to get her on the road. He wore a dark blue and silver helmet and had a second, entirely silver one in hand for a passenger. Darcy spotted him through the kitchen window and ran to meet him on the porch, quickly followed by Pepper and Tony. Even though he was sharp for lunchtime, most of the other ranch-hands had already gathered and instantly changed to gawping at Steve.  After his little moment at the river, he’d wanted to  _ avoid  _ being too public in giving Darcy his attention. But there was nothing for it now. 

 

“Miss Darcy, how’d you like to go for lunch in town today?” Steve asked, willing his voice not to tremble. Then he held out the spare helmet and clarified, “with me?”

 

Darcy held back a squeal and clapped her hands, gleefully taking the helmet. Tony looked a little taken aback; surely his little girl was not going to be riding one of those deathtraps? Nobody had consulted him on this. But before he could voice his protest, Pepper stilled him with a pat on the arm. It would be chilly on the bike and Steve told Darcy to go grab a coat. She darted past her father, who was still standing on the porch, like an alert guard dog.

 

“You can take one of the cars if you want,” Tony said, faintly anxious, “I mean that thing’s been in storage how long? Are you sure it’s safe?”

 

Thor and a few of the others eyeballed Tony, waiting to see if Steve would get an earful. But no-one actually answered, and Darcy reappeared and climbed onto the bike. She bit her lip excitedly as she wrapped her arms around Steve’s waist. He pulled them even tighter. Tony’s left eye began to twitch a little. 

 

“The R8 even?” he squeaked.

 

“Ride safe, okay?” Pepper said, still holding Tony’s arm but pointedly ignoring him. 

 

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Steve, with a wink and a salute. And with a twist of his wrist, the bike roared to life and Steve kicked off. Darcy let out a delighted squeal and gripped even tighter. 

 

Neither Steve nor Darcy were scheduled to work that day - Steve thought it a stroke of good luck that he happened to land the same off-day as Darcy - and after their lunch in town, they wandered around the stores and took the bike to stretch its legs. Darcy would tap his waist and point at exits and turn-offs, taking him on a bit of a mystery tour of the landscape. Fall was in full strength now and trees were painted oranges and reds that glowed in the autumn sunshine. Natasha pulled them over - which initially sent Steve’s heart into his throat - but merely to take a gander at the bike, she and her partner, Officer Hill, oohing and aahing over it. Before they were set free, Natasha insisted that they go to her and Sam’s place for dinner. Sam was cooking, which meant barbeque, possibly the last one before the weather turned. It was a cold-feeling loss whenever Darcy would let go of Steve but she never went far, and spent the evening cuddled right up to him either on Sam and Nat’s picnic bench or on their couch. 

 

By the time Darcy decided that Steve ought to take her home, the night had drawn in crisp and cool and stars arched overhead. He took a slower pace on the roads - sparing both of them the worst of the chill and stretching out his time with Darcy clinging to his waist - and was almost down to a crawl as they drew into the ranch. Surely everyone would be asleep or trying to get there. But as they puttered up to the main house they saw a light on in the kitchen window, and soon spotted Tony dashing out from the hall and onto the porch. 

 

“Where the hell have you two been?” Tony demanded, as soon as the engine was off. Darcy and Steve looked at each other, surprised by Stark’s irate tone. Darcy climbed off the bike and took off her helmet, handing it back to Steve. 

 

“We went to Sam and Nat’s for dinner. I sent you a text,” Darcy explained, stepping in between her father and Steve. It didn’t seem to have much effect. 

 

“You sent that at four o’clock. Hours ago. How was I meant to know you weren’t upside down in some ditch?”

 

Darcy spluttered, “By trusting me? We just went for a drive, and then went to Sam’s.  I didn’t realise you needed a tracker on me the whole time.”

 

Tony didn’t have a response to that but instead rounded on Steve, “And you! You think you can just take my daughter off wherever you like, how do I know you weren’t taking liberties?”

 

_ ‘Taking Liberty’s what?’ _ Steve thought, but kept to himself. Stark was clearly not in a mood for smart answers. Steve didn’t quite know how to placate the man, but Darcy was ready to tell her father how ridiculous he was being. 

 

“Dad! It’s not the nineteenth century anymore,” she spat, “I’m twenty-five, don’t try to tell me who I can and can’t spend time with. Go back inside and we’ll talk about this. Properly, like grown-ups.”

 

Stark didn’t want to listen to that but couldn’t come up with a reason to say no, or not one that wouldn’t make Darcy even more annoyed and exasperated. She took a step even further into Tony’s space and he stalked back off into the house still fizzing. Darcy turned back to Steve and put a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Sorry, Steve,” she said, “I don’t know why he’s being like this.”

 

“S’alright. It’s not your fault, Darce.”

 

She rubbed his shoulder and his upper arm a little, “You head off, I’ll deal with him. See you tomorrow.”

 

Steve couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t get a goodnight kiss, but he supposed Stark had ruined the mood for it and could still be seen through the glass in the front door, stalking back and forth from the kitchen. Darcy stepped back up the porch steps and Steve turned the engine off, steering it over to the garage. As he walked back to the bunkhouse he could hear indistinct bickering coming from the main house, unable to make out words but undeniably Darcy and Tony. Steve just hurried away; the job so far had been going good and, though he felt bad for leaving Darcy to temper her father, he didn’t want to get himself fired by pushing the issue. 

 

Sitwell and Ward were still up, watching tv, but everyone else seemed to have gone to bed, so Steve chose to do the same. He’d need time to wind down and he now had a few nice pictures of his bike that he wanted to send to Bucky. He dressed for bed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor, and went to close his curtains. But just as he looked up he saw tiny lights in the distance, out by one of the pastures. Like a flashlight. It was there for a fraction of a second before disappearing and the view was nothing but night. A few moments’ pause and it didn’t return, so Steve shook his head and closed the curtains. He must have imagined it.


	5. A Six Gun At Your Side

In the army, actual mail was a wondrous thing. Souls were shipped to all parts of the globe, only to be instantaneously transported home with the arrival of even the shortest of letters. A lot of people sent things online, but it wasn’t the same as getting a thin little packet with words and photos from the loved ones waiting thousands of miles away. Wyoming was apparently not that different. Sure, Steve’s phone got coverage and there were computers in both the main house and the bunkhouse. But the time to sit and type things tended to be scarce and he found himself wishing he could see his friends’ handwriting on just one envelope. 

 

But Steve would have to wait until another day, as the pile of mail Darcy was holding got smaller and smaller. Trip got a big stack of letters, one for Sitwell, one for Ward, a few unhappy-looking brown envelopes for Tony. 

 

“Aaaaaand Thor,” Darcy called, holding out a cream envelope. Thor grabbed it, giving the handwriting a beleaguered sigh, then he grumpily stuffed it, folded in half, into his back pocket. His face had darkened like a thundercloud. He roughly shoved back his chair, scraping against the floor, and stomped off to the truck - without waiting for Steve who had to shovel his lunch in to not be left behind. As he caught up, Steve saw Thor reading whatever it was in the driver’s seat of the truck, with the engine running already. Steve jumped in, casting curious glances at Thor. The man had clearly had his day ruined, and he stayed foul-tempered the whole afternoon, until they broke for coffee. 

 

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, sitting on their truck’s tailgate. 

 

Thor muttered and pulled out the now crumpled letter, “another missive from my father. Imploring me to get my act together and come home.”

 

Darcy had warned Steve that Thor’s family was a no-go topic, and he’d treated it as absolutely none of his business. But now it was right in front of him, and it seemed callous to just ignore it. He only hoped Thor didn’t finally lose his temper and punch him for it. 

 

“What’s your father got against ranching?”

 

“Nothing. So long as it’s done by someone else. He thinks it beneath me,” Thor explained, slumping down onto the tailgate too, “according to him, I should forget Jane, forget this place, and return home to be a partner in his law firm.”

 

“Ah,” Steve tapped his nails off his mug. 

 

“I have told him time and again that I am not as suited to it as he thinks I am. My brother would fare far better, but Father will not give it to him.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because he is adopted. Neither he nor I knew this growing up and Loki did not take it well. He and Father fought for so long, screaming at one another every other night, until Loki left. He has not spoken to Father in some years now. So I doubt he’d want the job anyway.”

 

“That sucks, man. Where’s your brother now?”

 

“I’m not certain. England, last I heard. He rarely sends letters,” Thor said sadly. But the venom quickly reappeared, “Father is an old fool if he thinks I will just drop everything and return. He has called Jane - the woman I love - a great many insulting names. He has not apologised, or even stopped. Here.”

 

Thor thrust the creamy paper into Steve’s hand, forgetting that Steve would not be able to read Icelandic. Steve simply looked at the page, turning it this way and that, spotting the name Jane in there a couple of times, but gleaning little from it. 

 

“In this month’s  _ lecture _ , he likens her to a farmyard goat,” Thor explained, face reddening with anger, “Can you believe that? How is that supposed to convince me of anything, other than him being a bitter old man?” 

 

Steve had no words and just looked over at Thor sympathetically. Thor downed his mug of coffee and set it back down in the flatbed, blanking Steve and going straight back to work still with the stormcloud over his head. Nothing seemed to ease Thor’s frustration, not the passing of the day or the work, and the entire framework rattled with every hammer blow. Steve eventually, haltingly, suggested Thor start beating in the new fence posts around the garden instead. He wasn’t sure that pointing the man towards a twenty-pound sledge hammer was the best idea but at least Steve could be on the other side of the property and out of the firing line. Only as the sun started sinking into the mountains did Thor finally sweat out his feelings and turned back to Steve to apologize for his attitude. Steve could hardly blame him and clapped his friend’s shoulder, telling him not to worry about it and to call it a day. 

 

Steve drove the truck back to the garage, with Thor slouching onto the passenger seat tired in ways more than physical. They didn’t talk but they didn’t have to. 

 

As they trudged over towards the bunkhouse to wash before dinner, a shot rang out. The sound ripped through the air and straight into Steve’s bloodstream. He froze on the spot. He had to count to ten, taking breaths in between, before he registered the cheering coming from the same direction as the shot. Thor was already heading around the other side of the barn to investigate and Steve shakily tried to catch up. If he was going to panic, he shouldn’t be on his own. Behind the barn and around the side of an old tool shed, they found a collection of the other guys and a sloppily put together target made of old timber. Nailed to the front was a piece of cardboard with a figure spray-painted on it. Who or what the figure was meant to be was debatable, but it had suffered a great deal of abuse before they’d arrived, with gunshots peppering its chest and crotch. 

 

Rumlow stood in front of the target, casually holding a revolver, and he turned to smirk at his crowd. In the cardboard figure’s forehead was a splintered hole. 

 

“Ah, Rogers, Odinson. Just in time,” he called, and looked down into the cylinder of his gun, “One shot left, who’s it gonna be?”

 

“First and only prize is bragging rights,” explained Sitwell. Steve belatedly cottoned on to the fact that no-one was being threatened, no-one was under fire. It was a shooting competition. But that didn’t quite erase the acidic feeling in his throat or the tension in his shoulders. He took deeper breaths; he was in Convergence, Wyoming, at work, he could see Thor and Trip and Rumlow. His friends. He was safe. 

 

Rumlow looked from Thor to Steve, silently daring them to try and beat his shot. Thor shook his head and folded his arms. Maybe Brock already knew Thor wasn’t confident enough with firearms to beat him, or he was worried Thor would actually punch him after his grumpy exit from lunch that day, but he passed Odinson over without another word and moved on to challenging Steve with more tenacity. 

 

“Come on, Captain Rogers,” he goaded, waving the revolver at the target, “surely the war hero knows a few tricks.”

 

“No, I don’t…” Steve croaked, “I don’t do guns.” 

 

Rumlow raised his eyebrows and actually snorted in disbelief. Steve’s breath became more hitched and less subtle. He forced himself to count, inhale for three, exhale for three. He could feel Thor and the others looking at him. 

 

“What kind of soldier doesn’t know how to use a gun?” Rumlow said, somewhat derisively. 

 

“I  _ know _ how to use a gun,” Steve retorted, inhale for three, “I  _ choose _ not to.”

 

Rumlow took on a haughty expression and turned back to the target. He held the revolver up in one hand, aimed, and fired the last shot into the cardboard man’s neck. Steve felt the shot even more. 

 

“Everyone uses guns around here,” said Rumlow, “Can’t say it ever occurred to me not to.”

 

“No, I don’t imagine it has,” Steve grumbled, though he was sure everyone still heard him. He turned and walked swiftly to the bunkhouse, letting the door slam shut behind him. He hurried into the bathroom and turned the cold tap as far as it would go. He cupped his hands and splashed his face with the rush of water, then gripped the sink as if for dear life and breathed as deeply as he could, shoulders heaving with the effort. He was in the bathroom, at the Lone Star Ranch, in Wyoming. Inhale for three, exhale for three. 

 

Thor found him some time later, having washed in the main house, and tried to coax him up from the bathroom floor. He told Steve dinner was ready and Darcy was getting worried about him. Hearing that, a little smile tugged at Steve’s mouth but he was still mechanical and butter-fingered as he washed his face and changed into a fresh shirt. Thor clapped him around the shoulders, just as Steve had done earlier, and they headed on out the door. But rather than go straight to the main house, Thor detoured them around back to where the target was still standing, lop-sided and holey. Steve’s spine stiffened but he was gratefully too tired to react much more than that this time.

 

“Brock thinks that strength is what makes the man,” Thor said, and yanked an axe from a chopping block, “but you and I both know that is not true.”

 

He spun sharply and whipped his arm forward, propelling the axe into the cardboard man’s head. It split the wood of the target and knocked the whole thing over.  If Thor could do that, surely he could have out-classed Brock with a gun? 

 

“Knowing  _ when _ to use that strength, knowing its value, is what makes us good men,” Thor finished with a grin. 

 

***

 

Steve should have known it would only be a matter of time before the haunted part of his life became common knowledge. Now it seemed everyone, from all the ranch staff to the old lady in the post office, looked at him with a mixture of pity and uncertainty. The ranch guys were closed-off to him, whether giving him space or keeping their distance he didn’t know. He should not have been surprised to receive reassuring nods from Tony whenever their paths crossed but he was. At least his boss had his back, as did Thor. 

 

Darcy still took him riding on the weekend, though she met him with a sad smile that cut Steve deeper than he cared to admit. He didn’t want Darcy to pity him, didn’t want her to think of him as broken. He didn’t talk much as they saddled up, and he could feel her watching him as they left the ranch. She waited until they were out of earshot of anyone but the cattle, then spoke.

 

“I get it if you don’t wanna talk about it,” she started gently, “but Brock was out of line. He has no right to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Steve shook his head, “if he wants to show off and shoot targets, he can. He doesn’t need to care if I like it.”

 

“He was a jerk about it,” Darcy said firmly, “he’s just jealous because serving your country is more honourable than being a some bar-brawling weekend warrior like him.”

 

“Honourable? I killed people, Darcy,” Steve admitted, pointedly looking anywhere but at her. He didn’t really remember anything very honourable about blood and smoke and screaming. 

 

They walked a little further, saying nothing. Every time he thought the pause was long enough that Darcy was going to drop the subject, he looked over to find her still gazing at him watchfully. 

 

“It’s none of my business but… you might feel better if you talk about it.”

 

Steve frowned. He’d talked about it before, with Bucky and Clint, with Sam, with a therapist. But it hadn’t gotten any easier, and probably never would. He’d felt vulnerable when Thor, Brock and Grant had asked about how he earned his silver star but to be vulnerable around Darcy was something a little different. She didn’t seem the type to swing guns around without a care for other people. 

 

He sighed, “our truck hit a roadside bomb. Three of my men died instantly. It threw us all off the road. They… the people that… they were waiting for us. They thought I was already dead, so they left me.”

 

He had to shake the images from his head. He was glad that Liberty knew where she was going, because he wasn’t really giving her anything, numbly attached to her reins. 

 

“It was like my body moved without my brain. I just… I don’t know. I opened my eyes and all I saw was my friends with guns pointed at their heads. All of ‘em just lined up on their knees, waiting to die. Clint had blood all down his neck, Bucky’s arm… I got up, I thought for sure they’d see me and just shoot me right there. But they didn’t. I got up behind a guy and snapped his arm, put a bullet in his brain. I-”

 

He stopped to take a breath. There were only steady rhythmic sounds of horseshoes on the path, and the twittering of birds in the distance. Darcy wasn’t saying anything but still staring at him. 

 

“After that, most of what I remember is gunfire. Lots of it, all at once. It was only when my clip ran out that I realized half of it was me. I didn’t even notice getting shot. I… I ended up hitting a guy with part of the truck door. I don’t remember passing out but one minute I’m standing in the desert and the next I’m staring at a hospital ceiling, so I must have done. Somebody managed to call for help, but it wasn’t me. I saved more people than I killed, apparently that counted for something.”

 

For a moment it felt like he was out there all alone, just him and the horses. He braced for the questions: how many dead, how many kills, what did it feel like? But Darcy just let the story sink in. 

 

“Thank you for telling me that, Steve.”

 

She held out her hand to him and he reached back, their hands linked together for only a few seconds before the horses jostled them apart. They settled into calm silence as they crested the hill, looking out over the valley and the ranch. Fall had already swept through the countryside and there were rich reds and yellows against a backdrop of snowy mountains. The days were still warm enough but a chill was creeping in, and clouds billowed with promise of snow. Steve rummaged in his pocket for his phone to take a picture. 

 

“I can have my dad talk to Brock, if you want,” Darcy offered. 

 

“Nah, it doesn’t need stirring up like that,” Steve replied, shaking his head then finally peeking over at Darcy for the first time since they set off. Her eyes were still soft and worried but also seeking, like a kinder, gentler version of Tony. He urged Liberty to start walking and Elektra and Darcy soon followed, “don’t worry about it. It’ll smooth itself out. Thanks, though.”

 

“No sweat, Steve. If you ever need to talk, about anything really, I’m always here.”

 

“It’s not your burden to carry, Darce,” Steve said, feeling his head ache with the weight of his frown. 

 

“That doesn’t mean you have to deal with it all on your own,” she offered, “even the Lone Ranger had Tonto. I could be your Tonto.”

 

Steve smiled a little, almost involuntarily, “you know what ‘tonto’ means in Spanish, right?”

 

But Darcy wasn’t going to be distracted so easily, “Steve. You’re my friend, I  _ want _ to help you.”

 

Steve pulled on Liberty’s reins, halting the horse just as Darcy and Elektra came alongside them. He looked at her, guarded and nervous and feeling a fool already for even thinking about it. Would it be too much, on top of all the heavy feelings he’d just offloaded? But if he didn’t say anything now, he’d kick himself later. It was an opportune moment sailing right past and the Bucky in his head was practically elbowing him in the ribs. 

 

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

 

Darcy looked a little affronted, “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?”

 

“No, I just… I meant,” Steve started chewing his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, “I’m not good at this.”

 

Darcy said nothing. 

 

“Are we  _ just _ friends, is what I meant to ask. You wouldn’t ever want to be more than…?” he found it hard to look at her eyes, and knew that there was blood rushing to his face, the tips of his ears burning. He stamped down on the nervous twitch springing up in his leg. 

 

“Sure, okay,” Darcy said, so softly it might have been the wind, “We can give that a shot. We should have a campfire, before it gets too cold. Sausages, marshmallows, that kind of thing. Just us.”

 

Fresh air immediately rushed into Steve’s lungs, filling out his chest and plastering a big grin all over his face. Even if he screwed up everything all of next week, Darcy said yes. 

 

“Of course, you’ll have to catch me first,” she said, swiftly urging Elektra forward, galloping off down the hillside. Steve rushed to keep up, hollering after her into the distance. 

 

Darcy spent the week keeping Steve on tenterhooks, inching closer and closer to his side. Every time she had to walk past him, she’d brush her hand over his back and leave it there longer and longer with each touch. She delighted in making him shiver and then waltzing off like nothing was amiss. Steve thought for sure that Tony would see them getting cuddlier with one another and take exception, but he was conveniently distracted whenever Darcy decided to put her hands on him. A whole week of Darcy giving him side hugs, and making sure to press her breasts against him; Steve could barely contain himself when Saturday evening finally rolled around once more and Darcy started to dig through cupboards, gathering up food and beer to take out to a campfire, and whispered to Pepper that neither she nor Steve would be at dinner. Instead Steve was presented with a rucksack of supplies - toasting forks, matches, bottle-opener - and all the right junk food, even a pack of jiffy pop. Just how  _ that _ was going to work, he wasn’t sure. 

 

Mr Jarvis, instead of inviting Steve to take a seat for dinner, suddenly found the pantry wholly engrossing so they piled on jackets and headed out to the stables, hand in hand. Darcy saddled up Sleipnir this time, and no other horse. She just used a fence to climb up into the saddle and patted the space behind her, smirking. Steve couldn’t help smiling at the memory of Darcy clutching to him on the motorbike, now reversed as he sat behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Sleipnir’s gait made for an interesting ride out, as Darcy’s backside continually undulated against Steve’s groin. But if they really were giving ‘them’ a chance - a thought that filled Steve’s chest with heat - then he could be a little cheeky about it, so he nuzzled into Darcy’s neck and made no effort to conceal how their contact affected him. Darcy pretended not to notice. 

 

She found a sheltered spot on the hill, with a view of the river and protected from the wind by an outcrop of rock, and nudged Steve to get off the horse. He helped her down, catching her by the waist and with Darcy bracing her arms on his shoulders, then letting her hands slide down his chest. They stood together for a few seconds before Darcy patted his pectoral and hurried off to tie Sleipnir to a nearby tree. Steve laughed as both horse and rider began snuffling around in the undergrowth, Sleipnir for something to eat, Darcy for firewood. He busied himself by laying out a blanket to sit on and scraping a shallow pit for the fire with his heel. 

 

Together they made a fire and watched the sun go down, awed by the wide expanse of golden orange light catching on the clouds and counting the twinkling stars as they appeared in the sky. They toasted the hotdogs and ate them straight off the forks, they made s’mores, and accidentally set their jiffy pop alight. That got thrown into the fire where it smoldered and let off intermittent pops and crackles. Steve lent back on both hands, watching the glowing sparks and smoke rise up into the night and drift away, while Darcy began sneaking her fingertips under the hem of his shirt. His skin was warm and her hands were cold, so his abs twitched at the contact. Only when her touch caught on the jagged scar across his belly did either of them still. Darcy didn’t need to ask where or how he’d gotten it and traced it across his skin. 

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

“No,” he said decisively, “I don’t regret saving my friends. If I hadn’t done… what I did, they’d be dead. I’d be dead. I just…”

 

Darcy titled her head towards him, urging him to keep going.

 

“I wish it hadn’t come to that. I didn’t like who I was, the lengths I went to. I hadn’t known I was capable of those things. It scared me.” 

 

“It’s okay to be scared, Steve,” Darcy said, tucking herself against his shoulder.

 

“Sometimes I think that if I’d had more control, it would’ve been different.”

 

Darcy frowned a little. To her, Steve was not someone who seemed to struggle with controlling himself. The restraint he’d shown in front of Rumlow and the others proved that. Steve wrapped his arms around her and bent his head low, breathing deep into her hair, and she squeezed him back.

 

“It’s not your fault, Steve.” 

 

He didn’t answer and Darcy pulled back, squaring her face up to his and staring at his eyes, “it’s really not your fault.”

 

Steve had known that - objectively - for a while, had rationalised it that way but there was something about hearing it out loud like that, from someone else, someone not paid to say it, made it feel a little more real. Having someone know all his perceived sins and want him anyway made life feel light and airy, and dissipated the shadows that followed him. But hell if Steve was going to be able to articulate that, so he gently laid his lips over Darcy’s. She stilled at the contact and a bolt of fear ran through him that it was too much too soon but a heartbeat later Darcy pressed back, tightening her arms around him. 

 

“ _ That _ was definitely your fault though,” Darcy whispered, with her eyes still fluttered shut. Steve just hummed warmly and kissed her again. 

 

The starry sky passed over unnoticed while they focused entirely on each other. Eventually the fire died low enough that the cold crept over the skin exposed by wandering fingertips that had drifted under shirts. When their shivers were as much from the temperature as each other’s touches, they parted and decided to head back. 

 

Despite the chill in the night air, their breath puffing out in front of them, Darcy and Steve were warm and giddy on the ride back to the ranch. Steve laid wet kisses along Darcy’s neck and ran his hands all over her hips and her thighs, and when the path was straight Darcy would reach back to card her fingers through his hair, tugging just that little bit. They giggled and shushed each other as they came in sight of the bunkhouse, sure that anyone still awake would hear them. 

 

Only when they passed the barn, a strange flickering light shone out from under the door, and the chickens were fussing at something. Sleipnir snorted and became antsy when he got close, and Darcy and Steve looked at each other quizzically. Had someone left a light on inside? There was a telltale crackling noise, one they’d been listening to all night, and grey smoke became visible in the porch light. Steve sprang into action, practically leaping off the horse and running to the barn door. He yanked the door open and Darcy watched him rush inside. She kicked Sleipnir to get away and back over to the stables, sliding out of the saddle and hurriedly tying him to a door handle. She grabbed up a bucket of sand and dashed back. 

 

She found Steve in a corner of the barn, pulling hay bales away from the one against the wall that had caught fire. It looked like it had already burned through one and was making quick work of another, leaving blistering paint and charred wood on the wall behind it. The chickens in their pen screamed frantically, flapping at the far wall trying to get out. He yelled at her to stay back and took the bucket from her, swiftly pouring the sand out over the fire. It dowsed the majority with a thwump, and what was left got stamped out. Then there was no sound but Steve and Darcy’s breathing and the creaking of the barn in the dark.

 

“You okay?” Darcy gasped.

 

“Yeah,” Steve huffed and breathed down the adrenaline, and looked around the barn. Nothing else was amiss. No flammables lying tipped over.  No exposed wiring. He toed through the warm pile of sand and ashes and in amongst the burnt wisps of hay there lay a short stubby cylinder. Whatever it was had succumbed to flame long ago but it wasn’t metal, it was organic. Darcy reached down, having pulled on a thick glove from some corner of the barn, and picked it up. She held it aloft, then broke it in half and sniffed. 

 

“A cigar?” she guessed, screwing up her face. 

  
It certainly could have been, and it explained how the fire started but it was against the rules to smoke inside for this exact reason and Steve struggled to figure out who on the ranch would flout that so carelessly. Darcy’s face took on a furious, scrunched-up pout and though Steve found it adorable, it meant trouble for someone else. She spun on her heel and marched out of the barn and towards the bunkhouse, picking up her pace as she saw lights were still on inside. Steve dutifully followed, sure that he would need to back her up as she reamed out whichever of the guys had been dumb enough to smoke in the barn. 


	6. You And Me, Together We'll Get By

Fall started to turn soon enough, with flurries of snow and sharper winds whipping around the ranch more often than not. Steve and Thor were working flat-out to get the foreman’s cottage roof finished before deeper snow smothered them, working through the winter wouldn’t be so bad once they could be safely indoors. Thor had ignored his father’s letter entirely, sending back only a brief catch-up to his mother, and seemed to use it as motivation to work harder and faster than before. Steve had occasionally wondered why none of the other workers - barring a weekly site visit from Stark - ever offered to help out, it seemed unfair. But now he understood; Thor was a tank and hard to keep up with. But they got the roof on and the doors closed just in time for a big blanket of thick, puffy snow to descend on the valley just in time for Thanksgiving. 

 

It had been a very long time since Steve had had a big family Thanksgiving, probably not since he and Bucky had been little kids and everyone squeezed into Bucky’s family’s apartment. Trip was the only man on the ranch who seemed to have family he wanted to visit, and he ventured off through the snow to his mother’s. Steve had half a mind to go back to New York, he missed Bucky and Clint so bad it ached, but he knew Thor was planning to work every day as normal save the Thursday itself and Steve couldn’t leave his newest friend to work in the cold. He’d visit home for Christmas. 

 

As it turned out, Steve was needed to make a dent in the sensational amount of food that had been prepared. Mr Jarvis became the one giving out orders and anyone who came near the kitchen before time was given a job to do, even Tony had been seen unconfidently peeling potatoes. And suddenly, the dining table heaved under the weight of turkey, potatoes, sweet potatoes, biscuits and bread, stuffing, and trays of roast vegetables. And once they got through that, there were half a dozen different desserts. Even for a bunch of hungry ranch workers, it looked like enough to see them until doomsday. 

 

There was a moment when Steve’s heart caught in his throat and his face turned pink as he felt Darcy’s hand slide up onto his thigh under the table. She started gently stroking with her thumb incrementally inwards, hidden from view by the tablecloth. Steve had to try not to sound pained when he was put on the spot to say what he was thankful for. He managed to mumble something about ‘being welcomed to a new home, which is pretty much the spirit of the day’ which was echoed in various ways around the table. Tony was somberly grateful for his wife and daughter, in the way a man can only be when he’s come close to being taken away from them. It made Steve a little guilty that said daughter’s hand was still lingering on the inside of  t his thigh and climbing higher, but as soon as he was able he shoved that feeling down along with a helping of mashed potatoes. 

 

Darcy, gratefully, didn’t push her luck any further and left his inner thigh alone for a while. She didn’t go far, though, snoozing on his shoulder after dinner and making sure their feet rested against one another during a game of cards. She didn’t want to let him go, and kept him by her side even when the others had started to drift off to bed or were just falling asleep in armchairs. Steve certainly couldn’t deny how good it felt, it was cosy and loving, and he ramped up the reciprocation after Tony dozed off by the fire. He let his hands rest on Darcy’s body - the small of her back, her shoulders, her neck - and cuddling her waist even as she set out a game of pool for them to play. 

 

They were the last people up and there was no sound beyond the crackle of the fireplace and tapping of cues and balls hitting off each other. Steve was only a little tired and didn’t want to go back to the real world, no getting up early, no working himself to the bone all day. Just him and Darcy holding each other in a warm house. But he started to get the hint that the night might be drawing to a close when Darcy cuddled up to him after every turn. It made him pleasantly drowsy, and his pool game terrible. 

 

Darcy abandoned her half of the game in favour of attaching herself to Steve’s waist and breathing in, deep and sleepy, at his collarbone. He sunk the last ball and set the cue back on the table, facing Darcy and letting her have his full attention.

 

“Come upstairs with me,” Darcy told him, slipping her hands beneath his shirt collar. Steve raised his eyebrows, assuming she wanted what he thought she wanted. The idea made him a little nervous, it had been a while since he’d been intimate with anyone, but Darcy’s touches sent shivers down his spine. Her left hand started playing with the soft hair at the base of his skull, she pressed her body right up against him and slipped her leg around his. The warmth from between her thighs made his hips twitch. His hands slipped around to the small of her back to hold her centre even closer. 

 

“Take your boots up,” Darcy whispered, grinning and fluttering kisses ever so gently down his neck. 

 

“No boots in the house, Miss,” he teased. But Darcy wasn’t interested in playing coy, and brought her hands down to start unbuttoning his shirt. 

 

“Take your boots up so Dad won’t notice you’re still here,” she finished with his buttons and slowly tugged the ends of his shirt out from his waistband. Steve leaned down and pressed a hot, slow kiss to her lips and when he pulled back, she looked up at him through fluttering lashes and gently bit his lower lip. 

 

Steve took a deep, steadying breath, and held back a groan when her hands reached around to the small of his waist and her nails dragged softly over his skin.

 

“Okay,” he gasped. He pecked Darcy on the cheek and pulled away from her with a pout, hurrying back through the sitting room to fetch his boots from the porch. As he came back, with Darcy perched on the edge of the pool table twirling her hair, Tony gave a sleepy snort from his armchair. Steve froze. He glanced over to his boss’ spot in the corner where Stark was, mercifully, still sleeping in front of the fire. Steve crept rather more slowly to Darcy, who backed teasingly away towards the staircase. 

 

Her room was away down an upper wing of the house that Steve had not been to yet, and Darcy disappeared around corners. He followed only to see glimpses of her vanishing down another corridor until she stopped at a second, small set of stairs. 

 

“This is me,” she said with a nod back to the mint green door behind her. Steve caught up to her and easily lifted her up into his arms, with her legs wrapping around his middle.  Darcy reached behind to open the door and Steve kicked it shut behind them. She pressed her finger to his lips and reminded him to be quiet, to which Steve just pouted and tipped her down onto the bed. His boots were dropped unceremoniously down beside it. 

 

Darcy’s room was neat and tidy, with no clutter and her own desk all organised, over which Steve hurriedly threw his shirt and tank top. Heat rushed to his groin as Darcy reached up under her dress and rolled down her tights, she slipped them off her feet and tossed them to the back of the room. She then sat up cross-legged, where Steve could see she was wearing no panties, and none too gently unbuckled his belt. The metal of the buckle made a clunk as it hit the door when the jeans were cast aside. Darcy sat forward on the bed. She pulled her dress up and over her head, letting it pool in a heap on the floor. The air in her room was cool, and stiffened her nipples through her lacy blue bra. 

 

She kissed the taut skin on his abs and gently slid his boxers to the ground, while Steve played with her hair. Her hands ran up his thighs before coming up to his cock, stroking it to full hardness. Darcy licked her lips and kissed the tip, then sucking the head further and further past her lush, rosy lips. 

 

Steve groaned at the wet warmth of her mouth, and her tongue swirling underneath his cock. He scooped up her hair and held it away from her face, running his fingers along her neck and shoulders. Darcy pulled back for a moment before taking a deep breath and gazing mischievously up at him. She then slid his cock back into her mouth, sliding all the way down to press her nose into coarse hair and pushing the head into the back of her throat. Steve gasped and struggled to stop his hips thrusting forward; he practically whimpered when Darcy started slowly bobbing back and forth, letting him into her throat for only a second or two then pulling back. One of her hands went around his ass, giving him a squeeze, and the other cupped his balls. 

 

“Oh, god, Darcy,” he mewled, “I… I can’t… I won’t last if you…”

 

Darcy just hummed in response, the sensation made Steve tip his head back and moan. His hips were jerking forward in a stuttering rhythm, his cock starting to twitch. She pushed herself back down, swallowing repeatedly over his head. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and let out keening noise as pleasure finally overtook him and he came into Darcy’s mouth. He forced himself to look down at her - she winced at the taste hitting the back of her throat and pulled back a little, still suckling to have every last drop. 

 

Darcy let his cock slip out of her mouth, and blew cool breath on the tip. She pressed a soft kiss to the slit and Steve had to jerk backwards, too sensitive for more. He stood gasping for a few moments and brushed his fingers through Darcy’s hair and stroking the skin on her back. 

 

“Turnabout is fair play, Steve,” she sang in a lilting, teasing voice. Her hands began running up along her thighs, into the soft skin towards her centre, and she spread her legs a little more. Steve nodded enthusiastically and bent down to a firm kiss to her lips, following her as she scooted backwards up onto the bed.  She reached back and unhooked her bra, flinging it across the room. 

 

When she stilled, resting her head back on the pillows, Steve kissed from her jaw, down her neck, and in between her breasts, leaving wet prints over her skin. He cupped his hands gently around each breast, taking their weight but not squeezing, and swirled his tongue around each nipple in turn. Darcy’s back arched up towards him. He slid his hands down around her hips and under her thighs, kissing her belly and gladly letting Darcy hook her legs over his shoulders. Steve ghosted one finger over the delicate folds, barely touching her yet making her twitch in anticipation. He licked his lips and gently parted her pink centre, opening her up to him. His tongue was equally fleeting over her skin, flicking softly at her entrance before travelling upwards to lavish wet kisses around her clit. She whined and ran her fingers through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. He glanced up at her - seeing her open mouth and lust-hazed eyes - then sucked at the sensitive button, licking in rhythmic circles that had her panting and whimpering. Her entrance became hotter and slicker and he gently slid one finger inside, not thrusting but touching and exploring her inner walls. 

 

“Oh, Steve, yes,” Darcy moaned as he added a second finger, curling both upwards. Her legs tensed and twitched as all the muscles around her centre tightened and she tipped over the edge. He licked and kissed at her folds, tasting her, reducing her to nothing but squeaks and gasps. 

 

He licked his fingers as he raised himself up - showing Darcy just how he savoured the taste of her - and letting his still-hard cock tap against her thigh. 

 

“You’re so good, Darcy.”

 

She ran her toes down his side as she flung her arm out to grab at the drawer in her nightstand. From in amongst the tampons she pulled out a strip of condoms and tore one off, then held the foil packet out. 

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, turning the packet in hand. Darcy nodded her consent, making grabby hands towards him and spreading her legs apart. Steve rolled on the condom, throwing the wrapper over his shoulder, and edged forward. He lined himself up at Darcy’s wet entrance and slowly, gently pressed his cock through her folds. Once he was fully seated inside her, she wrapped her legs around his hips and met him for a slow, languid kiss. 

 

“Okay?” he asked, leaning down on his forearms to kiss her cheeks. 

 

“Yeah,” she whispered, using her calves to pull his hips closer to hers and running her hands over his biceps and up onto his shoulders. 

 

He rolled his hips, gently trying different angles until he found the one that made Darcy let out a hum of pleasure. He thrusted shallowly at first, changing from slow to fast, rough to gentle. 

 

“Ah, go back to the…” Darcy trailed off,  guiding him with increasingly loud and yearning sighs and moans. 

 

He took great pleasure rocking his hips, thrusting right against that good spot inside her. He shushed her to keep quiet but that didn’t stop him enjoying the high-pitched whines he could get out of Darcy when he upped his pace. He let the headboard bang against the wall, and Darcy dragged her nails over his scalp and across his back. 

 

He paused a little, determined to make her cum first. He leaned down, pressing butterfly kisses along Darcy’s jaw and nibbling at her earlobe. She whimpered at him, so close to begging him not to stop. 

 

After a few breaths, Steve thrusted into her again, not letting up even a little until she was clenching around him and letting out cries of pleasure. It was so wet and soft inside her, as she mewled underneath him, and he felt his hips stutter and lose rhythm. He kept his pace even as his orgasm washed over him like a wave, he only stilled when he was down to the last little twitches. Darcy sighed contentedly as he pulled out. 

 

Steve could barely look away from her, even as he climbed off to deal with the condom. He left her bathroom door wide open so they could see each other in the mirror as he ran warm water over a washcloth. He cleaned her up first, then himself, both of them sated and sensitive. They laughed as the washcloth was thrown from the bed and landed in the laundry basket with a soft splat. 

 

There was a single nervous moment when Steve was uncertain if he should stay; whether Darcy wanted him to, or if it was just more appropriate to go back to his own bed. But Darcy kicked back the covers and crawled into bed, holding the sheets up and beckoning Steve in. They cuddled in close to one another, skin against skin, and fell asleep in between kisses.

 

***

 

A sharp knock at the door woke Steve and Darcy with a shock. 

 

“Hey, Darce! Pep wants you downstairs,” Tony called through the firmly closed door, where Steve’s crumpled jeans were still lying, “Those guys for Sam and Nat’s wedding marquee need to come take measurements, she wants to know when’s best, okay?”

 

It didn’t sound like he was walking away, more like waiting outside for some sort of response. Steve didn’t dare move a muscle, or even breathe too hard. 

 

“Okay, be down in a minute,” Darcy called, laying on the nonchalance with a trowel, but staying stock still. 

 

The moment Tony’s footsteps were out of earshot, the pair of them leapt out of bed. Darcy threw on pyjamas out of her laundry basket and Steve hopped into his underwear and jeans. His shirt and tank top got balled up and tucked under his arm. 

 

“How do I get out of here?” he whispered urgently to Darcy, who was brushing her hair out of the ‘I had lots of sex’ look. She bit her lip and considered their options, only one of which really guaranteed Tony would not see Steve leaving. 

 

“You’ll have to go out the window, sorry,” she answered, “There’s a railing and a drainpipe.”

 

Steve nodded quickly. His boots were shoved on without the socks, which remained in one corner or another, and Darcy hurried to open her french windows so he could climb out. He put one leg over the balcony rail, scoping out the drop, then the other leg. He was balancing somewhat precariously on the stone edge of the balcony, when Darcy rushed up and kissed him hard. She mouthed ‘good luck’ at him and then bolted away out the door. 

 

He watched her run off, the baggy pyjamas she’d pulled on doing little to hide the figure Steve wanted to know every inch of. He crouched, dangling out of the window. Steve screwed up his face and let go of the railing, flinging himself away from the balcony and hoping he didn’t make too much of a thump when he landed. He bent his knees as he touched the ground, crunching up the dirt path and dropping his shirt in the process. But any stealth he might have had went straight down the drain; as he picked up the shirt he saw Pepper and Natasha staring at him through the sitting room window. 

 

He stood stock still for a few heartbeats, and Pepper’s jaw dropped to the floor. Blood instantly rushed to his ears and his cheeks, making them hot and red. He was half-naked, in full view of his boss’ wife, having just failed spectacularly at sneaking out from a night of passion with his boss’ daughter. If this was where Pepper was, no doubt Tony and Darcy would appear in the doorway any second. There was only one solution: run. So he bolted off full pelt towards the bunkhouse, one hand clinging feebly to his jeans to hold them up. 

  
After hiding out in his room, missing breakfast entirely and opting for screaming face down into his pillow instead, he walked steadily out to meet with Thor. Steve was now thanking his lucky stars that they had agreed to keep working on the house through Thanksgiving, since it meant when Pepper - or Tony - came out to fire him it would only be in front of Thor and not everybody. He spent the entire day nervous and on edge, waiting for a hammer blow that never came. Not that day, nor the next, nor the one after that. 


	7. Fire Before The Doorway

Steve huffed in frustration, unable to sleep. He was tired as all hell, but he just couldn’t drift off. No matter which way he lay, no matter how heavy his eyes felt. He’d gotten up for a drink about a half hour ago, which had felt cooling but hadn’t really helped. He was trying too hard not to think. If he worried, he couldn’t sleep. If he made himself not worry, he still couldn’t sleep. 

 

He’d gone a whole week, nearly seven entire days, with barely any contact with Darcy. Steve was working hard on the house with Thor, and Darcy was still there for every meal but so often she seemed to need to vanish into the office with her father for something. She still touched him in passing, tickled her fingers across the small of his back or winked at him in the tiny moments she had spare. But they’d had no real time to talk. And they probably needed to. Steve wasn’t great at relationships but it was probably good idea to talk about things when a woman’s step-mother sees you climbing out of the window the morning after. 

 

Maybe that was the problem; had Darcy been given a dressing-down from her parents? Just because they didn’t say anything to Steve, didn’t mean they had no opinion. She could have been forbidden from seeing him. It was after all her father’s ranch and they were close, so she’d surely obey him. 

 

Of course, she may just have changed her mind about him, Steve fretted. Perhaps he hadn’t taken care of Darcy’s needs like he wanted to. She’d sounded like she’d enjoyed it but… Steve wasn’t sure he’d like to know if she’d faked it. It could be that she just wasn’t that into sex in general, that was a thing. There were any number of explanations and Steve’s mind wasn’t going to stop whirring until he’d considered every single one. 

 

Just thinking about his night with Darcy made him tingly and aroused. Normally Steve took care of himself in the shower but he’d been saving it up, so to speak, for  a time with Darcy. But it just wasn’t happening. He conceded it would probably help him sleep - or he dearly hoped so - if he relieved some of that tension. 

 

He closed his eyes as he stroked himself through the fabric of his pyjama pants. He wondered if he sat on his hand, would it go numb? Then he could pretend it was Darcy’s hand, Darcy’s breasts, Darcy’s mouth, all over his cock instead. He shifted his position so he sat slightly more upright against the pillows, ready to slip his hands down his pants, but his eyes caught something flickering through the space between the curtains. Like a light in the distance. 

 

It was probably just a car driving past, but this wouldn’t be the first time Steve had ignored strange lights in the night. He got up out of bed, his erection ignored, and peered out between the old curtains. 

 

The land that rolled out around the ranch was crusted in frost, reflecting the moonlight and giving everything an odd sparkling, green tint. And in the middle distance, where Steve guessed to be one of the outer pastures, there were the pinpricks of red from someone’s tail lights. Why on Earth would anyone be out checking the pastures at this time of night? He thought back to the barn catching fire the night of Steve and Darcy’s picnic date, and the night when the horses getting antsy had woken him up, the cattle getting out and stuck across the stream. It was all mighty suspicious. 

 

He chewed his lip for a second before quickly and quietly tugging on some jeans and gathering up a his boots and a jacket. He headed downstairs, determined to check things out but not wanting to wake anyone else, just in case it was nothing and the guys thought he was an idiot. He pulled a flashlight from the cupboard under the kitchen sink and, after spotting them in the back, he took the dusty, cobwebby binoculars too. 

 

Outside it felt cold and eery, and that much more vulnerable. His footsteps crunching on the gravel sounded like they’d wake the whole ranch. Steve’s fingers fumbled on the handle of the barn door, numb already from the chill, and he hurried inside. The building creaked in the night and Steve really wanted these lights to be nothing so he could run back inside and forget how creepy this place was in the dead of night. He thought it would be less so if he turned on the ancient, opaque light bulb hanging overhead but if he could see the lights out in the pasture, then whoever was out there would be able to see the light in the barn. So he left it, and found his way over - using the flashlight to illuminate only his feet -  and climbed up into a stack of hay bales, until he could peer out of the old, rotting window frame. The shutters creaked and a shower of decaying paint flakes fell from the window.  It woke the chickens from their slumber in the pen in the corner but he paid them no mind. Steve lined up the binoculars to the western pasture and saw that there were indeed red tail lights parked just outside it, and a stream of yellow from the headlights of somebody’s truck facing away from his vantage point. He turned the flashlight off. 

 

There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of Steve’s eye, something in the shadow of the barn just at the right-hand corner. He pulled back inside from the window and waited, muscles tensed and ready for whoever might be there. 

 

But after a good few moments, probably a full minute, nothing more came and Steve told himself it was just a fox or something. When he looked back through the binoculars there was nothing but a frozen nightscape, with the outer fields too far away for the moonlight to tell him if that truck was still there or not. They’d turned off their lights entirely and now Steve was left in the dark. 

 

With a sigh he gave up and climbed back down off the bales. And jumped at the sight of a figure standing in the doorway.

 

“Jesus Christ!”

 

“Holy shit, Steve!”

 

But it was just Darcy, hovering outside the barn in her father’s boots and a loosely-tied robe covering her nightie. The cold obviously bit at her skin and made her nipples stand up through the fabric. She sagged in relief at finding only Steve out here, and he noticed her setting a baseball bat against the barn’s outside wall. 

 

“What are you doing up?” Steve asked, his breath huffing out in white plumes. 

 

Darcy shrugged, “I saw someone messing around in the barn with a flashlight. What are  _ you _ doing up?”

 

Steve looked down awkwardly at the binoculars in his hand but there was no reason to lie, “I thought I heard something. And there were lights out by the west boundary… but it’s gone now.”

 

Darcy glanced over to the west, and saw nothing, before wrapping her arms around herself. She probably jumped straight out of her warm, toasty bed and come out here in the cold. He forced back the memory of just how comfortable Darcy’s bed was, especially with Darcy draped across his chest.

 

He’d gone a whole week pretending that just the sight of Darcy didn’t light him up inside, and make his blood rush south. And now here she was, half dressed in front of him. But if she’d changed her mind about the two of them, well, that was a lady’s prerogative. Steve wasn’t going to make a big thing out of it but he couldn’t stand there and look at her all night. 

 

“It’s cold out here, you should head back inside,” he instructed, trying to keep his line of sight up and above Darcy altogether. He took two steps towards the doorway, expecting her to turn and go back to the house or let him pass but she did neither. She stayed where she was, right in the middle of the doorframe, looking up at him  with  big pleading eyes and a somewhat frustrated pout. 

 

“Steve, this is the first chance we’ve had to be alone in like six days,” she complained, “are you honestly saying it doesn’t bother you? Because it’s driving me crazy.”

 

She pulled on the drawstring of her robe, letting the whole thing fall open. Her nightie was even shorter that he’d thought, with the lacy hem not even reaching halfway down her smooth, beautiful thighs.

 

“Oh, thank God,” Steve said, tossing the binoculars over onto a hay bale. He thumped the lightswitch with his fist, filling the barn with a weak, orange glow. Darcy practically leapt up into his arms, pressing a firm, almost desperate, kiss to his lips. He walked them backwards, back into the safety of the barn, and kicked the door shut to hold off the worse of the biting cold. Their kiss was hastey, making up for the time spent missing each other, and he was certain both of them would be pink-lipped and raw. 

 

He slid his hands into her robe and around her waist, she was still sleep-warm and he wanted nothing more than to press his centre closer to hers. When she started rubbing her bare leg against his jeans, he gave in and hoisted her up into his arms, never letting his lips leave hers. He set her down on a tarp-covered haystack, and she pulled him close to stand between her thighs. Even through the denim he could feel the heat of her centre and groaned as his cock twitched, remembering what Steve had been up to before he’d come outside. This probably wasn’t a good idea; heavy petting in a cold, hay-filled barn with only the door keeping out the frosty air. Darcy left one of her hands tightly gripping the back of his hair, and the other wasted no time in sliding down over his chest and all the way down to cup the growing bulge in his pants. 

 

They parted lips, kiss-swollen and breathless, and gazed at each other through half lidded eyes, pupils blown wide in darkness and lust. 

 

Steve smirked and peppered Darcy with butterfly kisses, “I thought,” kiss, “maybe,” kiss, “you’d gotten” kiss, “sick of me,” kiss, kiss.

 

“No way,” she tugged at the fly of his jeans, “I think Dad thinks we’re up to something. He keeps giving me jobs to do, stuff he doesn’t normally even care about.”

 

Steve hummed in response and started running his hands up Darcy’s side, inching closer and closer to her breasts. They were so tempting, hiding just beneath the lace of her nightgown, and he really didn’t want a picture of Tony in his head at the same time. 

 

Darcy pressed a hard kiss to Steve’s lips, finally slipping her hand inside his boxers and lightly tickling him. He pressed forward into her hand and brought both of his own to Darcy’s breasts, slipping her nightie down and running his thumbs over her hardened nipples. 

 

“Is this okay?” he whispered, barely drawing back. Darcy giggled but before she could answer, the door clattered open, cracking some of the old planks in it, as Tony’s boot kicked inwards. He held a shotgun up, in anticipation of finding someone nefarious inside the barn. Darcy startled and cried out in fright, and the chickens panicked in their pen. 

 

Steve froze. Tony lowered his gun with a horrified and startled look on his face. Steve looked down to where his hands were still cupping Darcy’s breasts, before swiftly retracting them. Darcy squeaked as she was then exposed to the cold air and her father, and slapped her own hands across her chest, rather roughly pulling one hand out of Steve’s jeans. 

 

Tony whimpered. 

 

“Why are you doing this to me?” he squeaked, “just… just, fuck, put a sock on the door handle or something next time.” Darcy and Steve still hadn’t moved. “I’m going to go drink to forget this, lock up when you come back inside.”

 

Tony turned and marched back inside, and they stayed motionless until they heard the sound of the main house’s front door closing. Steve sighed in resignation, tonight wasn’t the night either then. 

 

“Mood killer, huh?” he offered. 

 

Darcy pouted a little and walked her fingers up Steve’s shirt, “you know, my room isn’t actually anywhere near Dad’s…”

 

Steve’s eyebrow ticked up. 

 

***

 

He should have known it was too good to last.

 

He’d had a great few days: work on the house went smoothly, nobody seemed to be bad tempered, he’d taken Darcy out for dinner on Friday night and they’d found a secluded spot on one of the back roads into the ranch to have sex in the truck. Then they’d come back to the main house to find everyone already asleep, which meant Steve could sneak up to Darcy’s room again. They got up early enough that he didn’t have to climb out the window this time, and got to have breakfast with their unsuspecting colleagues. 

 

They spent their morning riding around the trails just shooting the breeze and telling stories about all the stupid stuff they’d each done as kids; from Darcy and Jane almost getting arrested in London, to the time Steve’s college art tutor had caught Bucky drawing softcore porn in class. 

 

“And she thinks it’s some fancy-schmancy neo-surrealist line drawing,” Steve complained, “when it was just Bucky’s crappy rendition of the time he got to lick popcorn off some chick’s boobs.”

 

Darcy grinned and giggled, probably thinking he was exaggerating. 

 

“But the worst was, Mrs O’Neill put it up on the wall in corridor outside and every time I walked to class I had to look at it. I sulked so hard.”

 

“I bet you’re cute when you sulk,” Darcy teased. 

 

“Maybe,” he answered, with a little pink rising on his cheeks, “but I was there when it happened, I didn’t need to see it recreated with a green ballpoint pen.”

 

“What!? You watched him lick popcorn off a girl? What kind of party was this?” Darcy shrieked, laughing harder. 

 

“Nah, let me tell you,” Steve started, “so we’re on the ferris wheel at Coney island, right? And I’m in a carriage on my own, and Bucky and Dottie Cohen are making out in the one in front of me. I had no-one to make out with, so I figure I’d make his day a little worse and I start throwing my popcorn at him, piece by piece,” he mimicked throwing little individual kernels, “Mostly they just bounce off his head but I’m trying to irritate him and I can tell it’s working. So he, like, turns in his seat so that I can’t get the popcorn in his ear. And I tried to go for his mouth instead but I overshot it. It hits him in the nose and then falls right down Dottie’s shirt. But she’s not some skinny supermodel so it just sits there, in between her breasts. They turn around to glare at me and, I don’t know, my stupid brain thought that if I hid the bag of popcorn, they wouldn’t know it was me.”

 

“Even though you were the only guy behind them?” Darcy was laughing in earnest now.

 

“Yeah, I was a stupid kid. So I just hide my hands down behind the barrier where they can’t see, not realising that what they  _ could _ see was me with my hands between my legs while they’re kissing.”

 

Darcy snorted at the implications.

 

“And I could tell from Dottie’s face she’s thinking ‘what the hell kind of setup is this?’ and she turns to Bucky, looking all scandalised and - honest to God, I don’t know why - he just ducks down and picks the popcorn off with his tongue.”

 

“Oh my god,” Darcy cackled, “so when is Bucky coming out here?”

 

“No. No, no, no,” Steve said, while Darcy waggled her eyebrows, “besides, Dottie slapped him for it. He says it was worth it but she never called him back.”

 

“Aw, are you sure? He can be the friend jerking off in the back and you can do the popcorn thing?”

 

“I was not jerking off! Jeez, you’re as bad as he is,” Steve sighed, “but I won’t say no if you want the popcorn thing, just not in public okay?”

 

Darcy pretended to think about it and teased him about having to catch her first, then galloping Elektra over the hill and back towards the house. The y slowed as they came back in sight of the barn, and saw Tony getting out of his truck next to two unfamiliar men. Stark slammed the door angrily and that’s when Steve ought to have known his good day was coming crashing to a halt. 

 

Stark was tense as the conversation opened, and he stood like he had a steel column for a spine. Whoever these guys were, they were bad news. Underlying thoughts bubbled up in Steve’s head about bankers and lawyers and foreclosures. Hadn’t Natasha told him a story, months ago now, about how embezzlement had almost put this ranch in a financial sinkhole? 

 

Once they were close enough to listen in, Darcy halted Elektra and Liberty stopped of her own accord. Tony must have heard them approach behind him, and those two suited men couldn’t fail to see them, two figures on horseback at a distance where it would be more polite to get out of the saddle. Darcy stayed where she was, so Steve didn’t move either. 

 

They were crisp and clean, these men, with shoes that had obviously never met a ranch before. But they both stood in a relaxed and confident posture; local men turned bigwigs. The older man’s gaze could shrivel wildflowers, and his younger companion reminded Steve of some of the jerks who used to pick on him in school. The kind of guy who knew he could hide behind the brutes. He was chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. 

 

“How long are you going to play at this, Tony?” the older man asked.

 

“I’ll work this ranch til I’m dead, Pierce,” Tony spat back, “This is my family’s legacy and you’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers.”

 

Steve saw Darcy shift uncomfortably in her saddle.

 

“Hey, it already almost came to that, Anthony, we’d hate to see it go that far,” the younger man commented, simpering and smarmy. 

 

“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing; if you would consider my man Justin here for the position as your foreman, we could work together without you parting from your little homestead,” Pierce offered. 

 

Stark snorted, “yeah, I got his application. I’m not very interested in letting your lackey in, so you can eat this place from the inside out.”

 

Justin started to bristle at the insult but Pierce just put one large hand on his shoulder. He seemed unsurprised by Tony’s reaction but his eyes took on a little more venom, “well, that’s a shame, Tony. Your father was a lot more open to cooperation with his neighbours.”

 

“And look where that got him,” Stark said and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the sting. 

 

Pierce considered Stark - rigid and obstinate - before pointing his raptor gaze at Steve and Darcy. Steve had sat up straighter and stared back down at Pierce, jutting his chin up in the air. Pierce was looking to bully Stark and everyone else on the ranch by extension. 

 

“Tony, I’m trying to be polite about this,” Pierce said, looking back at Stark, “but this rustling that’s been going on is serious, and I think we need to all be working together. If you can’t do that now, you may not have a choice later on.”

 

The man’s tone left nothing unsaid; even Steve could figure that Pierce meant to have this ranch either by hook or by crook. If he couldn’t set his associate up to work here, he’d just wait it out until circumstance and misfortune made Stark sell up. Steve regretted a little that his work on the foreman’s house kept him away from a lot of the actual ranch work. He’d heard about cattle going missing a few times since he’d been here, and most of those had never been found again. Maybe that was putting more financial strain on the ranch tha n he’d anticipated. Pierce knowing about it probably meant it was a county or even state-wide problem, but Steve really didn’t like the man’s attitude. 

 

Tony had little else to say to either of them, just standing stubbornly until both Hammer and Pierce knew that was all they were going to get out of him and turned to go back to their car. Darcy watched them kick up dust on the gravel and only got down from the saddle after the car was definitively off the property. She walked right up to her father, leaving Steve to take both horses’ reins, but Stark didn’t let her get a word in first. 

 

“I know it’s your day off, and there’s probably things you’d rather be doing,” Tony said, with authority and a raised eyebrow in Steve’s direction, “but there’s snow forecast, lots of it, and I want you to check over everything in the stables. Make sure it’s going to stay warm and dry enough, yeah?”

 

“Yes, Dad,” Darcy answered. 

  
Tony nodded sharply and stalked back to the house. Steve looked to Darcy but she just sighed sadly and took back Elektra’s reins and headed for the stables. 


	8. Double Stake Or Split

A poster appeared on the notice board one evening, pink and navy blue, advertising a school fundraiser event that would take place just before Christmas: a barn dance. Although not actually in a barn, in fact the venue was the high school gym, it sounded like fun and seemed to raise conversation as soon as the poster went up. Steve learned from Trip that it was held annually and that ticket sales went to local projects, mostly centering around kids. Infrastructure out here in a quiet valley probably got overlooked pretty fast when government funding was on the line and he easily got the picture that the community took pride in achieving a degree of self-sufficiency. 

 

Sam called him that very night to explain as much again, and to goad Steve into attending. Natasha would be on duty but Sam was going solo, and Steve learned a few of the other guys had intentions on securing dates. Steve wouldn’t mind going by himself, not if Sam was there, but it was heavily hinted that he ought to be taking Darcy, or risk looking like a philanderer. He didn’t know much about barn dances, or dancing in general, but he knew he wouldn’t object to seeing Darcy all gussied up and on his arm. All night, in front of everyone.  

 

Only that was one thing they hadn’t ever gotten around to talking about: what were they? Despite the fact that both Darcy’s parents had seen with their own two eyes evidence that they were physically intimate, neither he nor Darcy had ever talked about their relationship much. He’d never referred to Darcy as his girlfriend, and he’d never heard Darcy call him her boyfriend. Way back on that horse ride, Steve had asked Darcy to be ‘more than friends’ but he’d neglected to specify exactly what he wanted that to mean. He didn’t want to plough right on in and ask for something Darcy wasn’t prepared to give. The idea of that something being a night of old-fashioned dancing in a public place struck Steve as a little like putting the cart before the horse. 

 

He got up sharp the next morning, so the sun was only hinting at rising in the distance, wanting to make sure he got the chance to talk to Darcy before the kitchen filled up with eyes and ears to witness him. Steve strode across the yard and hopped up onto the front porch of the main house, kicking his boots back off. He poked his head into the kitchen, finding Darcy and Mr Jarvis setting up for breakfast. 

 

“Morning, Steve,” Darcy called, “if you’re looking for Thor, he’s in the office with Dad. They’ll be out in a minute.”

 

Thor was in the office? A little flicker of worry developped in Steve’s chest, what reason would Thor have to be shut in Stark’s office? He hoped his friend wasn’t in trouble. But Steve had to focus on the task in hand, or he might just chicken out. Mr Jarvis didn’t seem to take any notice of them and continued organising dishes and food, most definitely within earshot. 

 

“I don’t think it’s about the foreman thing, so don’t worry about that.” Darcy added. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“You know, the foreman’s job? Dad opened it up for people to apply to. Didn’t you see the letter on the noticeboard?”

 

Actually no, he hadn’t. He’d vaguely registered an official looking piece of paper tucked somewhere on the board, but he’d been too caught up thinking about Darcy in a pretty, flouncy dress, ready for Steve to take her dancing. 

 

Steve cleared his throat, “actually, I wanted to talk to you, Darce.” 

 

Darcy looked up from the table place she was setting, with her big beautiful eyes widening as if he’d said something awful. She just waited for him to speak, fiddling with the back of a chair. 

 

“So… there’s that dance coming up and, well, I know that’s probably when you’d be heading out with Jane but…” Steve couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just get the words out. He’d already gone to bed with her, they had trysts and barn sex! He could ask her to a dance. But a dance would be public, it’d make it official, he supposed. He didn’t even know if Darcy had wanted that. 

 

“Ooh! D’you hear that?” cried Mr Jarvis, laying on incredulity with a trowel, “I believe that’s the phone ringing! I’ll run and get it.”

 

Darcy bit down a smile and Steve’s face blazed red. At least they had privacy now, never mind that no-one in their right mind would be calling this early in the morning, and there was a phone right there in the kitchen. 

 

“I wanted to know if you’d like to be my date?” Steve finished, “but if you don’t want to, it’s fine, I can… ”

 

He could what? Find another date? He’d sooner take Liberty to the dance than do that to Darcy. He could go alone, and just put up with the small town whispers about Darcy’s conspicuous absence. He could hear it already, ‘some city boy, coming in here, won’t buy the cow when he can get the milk for free.’

 

“Sure Steve, I’d love to,” Darcy said, with a bright smile, “Were you nervous? Did you think I’d say no?”

 

He shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s just… we’ve never been all that  _ public _ and I just thought maybe you didn’t want that?”

 

“Aw, Steve. I thought  _ you  _ didn’t like, you know, PDA’s or whatever,” she said, shaking her head, “we’re a pair of morons, right?”

 

“Right,” Steve knew his face was still beet red but Darcy’s smile was infectious. She waltzed right up to him, skirting around the table, and wrapping her arms around his waist. Steve lowered his head and captured her mouth in a deep, hard kiss. He gently pressed his hand to her nape of her neck, pulling her closer, and she let out a hum as Steve’s tongue parted her lips. His whole body became as hot as his blushing cheeks, with Darcy’s curves pressed flush to his front. 

 

Out of the corner of one fluttering eyelid, Steve barely registered Mr Jarvis attempting to reenter the kitchen only to swivel around and disappear again. Darcy’s hands slipped into Steve’s back pockets and he smiled into their kiss. They both giggled, even as they heard the soft sound of socked feet on the hallway carpet and then a few startled breathes catching in someone’s throat. 

 

“Ugh,” groaned Tony, “why is this happening? I gotta face breakfast after this?”

 

Steve and Darcy parted slowly and reluctantly. Darcy swiftly turned and went back to serving up scrambled eggs into a large dish and Steve took up his usual spot at the table, both pointedly avoiding eye contact with Tony but with unimpeded grins on their faces. Thor sat down to Steve’s left - gratefully blocking Stark from view - and he leaned in to waggle his eyebrows at him.

 

“Many places in Europe have tongue for breakfast too, Steve,” Thor teased. 

 

The table soon filled up with hungry people, raising a cacophonous noise in the room. Jane came downstairs looking tired and unhappy to nibble on some toast. Not that Jane was ever a morning person. Such was the nature of being an astrophysicist, Steve reckoned. They all ate their fill and cleaned their plates, reducing the once generously-laid table to dishes of crumbs, and half-hearted bickering over the last piece of bacon. 

 

As everyone filed back out of the kitchen, Steve caught Trip and Grant talking about the dance: Trip was all about getting to dance with every woman there, whether she had a date or not, and Grant was bemoaning the prospect of facing someone called Phil before he could ask ‘Miss Daisy’ to go with him. The last Steve had heard from Sam, Miss Daisy had given Ward his marching orders after some discourteous political remarks and an unrepentant attitude but good luck to him anyway. 

 

Trip turned to face Steve just as their boots hit the ground at the bottom of the porch steps, “what about you, Rogers? You going?”

 

He emphasized his meaning by nodding back towards the kitchen window - where Darcy could be seen starting the washing up - and grinning in the most unsubtle way. Steve felt his cheeks flush but refused to be shy about it; Darcy had agreed to go with him. 

 

He cleared his throat, “uh, yeah, me and Darce are going. What should I be wearing to a barn dance, exactly?”

 

Grant snorted, “yeah, I guess those aren’t big in Brooklyn.”

 

“A little thin on the ground,” Steve replied, but determinedly kept looking at Trip. 

 

“Ah, Steve-o. You wear whatever you want, because there’s no way you’ll be better dressed than me. A better question is this: what do  _ you _ know about square dancing?”

 

“Uh, it exists?”

 

Ward let out another indignant snort, as if square dancing was something even every city boy from half a continent away should know and have a repertoire of dances all lined up. Steve and Trip ignored him. 

 

“That is just the answer I was looking for. Come here,” Trip gestured him forward and held out his hands for Steve to take to dance with him there and then, “I’m going to show you a thing or two, so you might not look like you stepped straight off the bus.”

 

“You think I wanna take dancing lessons from a guy named ‘Trip?’” Steve asked jokingly, to which Trip simply glared at him and held out his hand. 

 

To the hilarity of all the other ranch-hands, Trip grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him around in a circle. After a little groaning, Steve acquiesced and let himself be put in position. The two of them shuffled and stumbled through the steps to one dance or other. Steve was certain it probably had a name, but damn if he could remember what Trip called it. He wasn’t quite sure if he was meant to be leading or not, and they caught on each other’s feet quite a few times, even though Trip was calling instructions and counting. 

 

Steve saw Thor pulling the truck around from the garage and figured it was past time to head out. He tried pulling away from Trip, who pretended to be shocked and offended. 

 

“Uh-uh, Rogers. You’re supposed to walk the lady back to her seat when you’re finished dancing, not just drop her like a Beyoncé album,” he chastised. Steve said he’d bear that in mind and Thor just laughed as they drove away. 

 

***

 

A storm rolled over the valley in the afternoon, billowing snow and thunder, so Steve and Thor held off on fitting glass in the cottage windows, leaving the chipboard panels in place while they had coffee. They’d managed to get one window complete and it let in the eerie daylight darkness that came from thick clouds and impenetrable blowing snow. Hopefully it would ease off by the time it came to head back to the main house but for now, the two men sat on a couple of upturned crates and watched the weather howling outside. 

 

Thor seemed unusually pensive. Steve wondered if perhaps he’d had another letter from his father to piss him off, but his friend was anxious, not angry. If there was something wrong, it could explain why Thor had been conspiring with Tony in the office.

 

“You okay, man?” Steve asked. Thor didn’t turn to look at him but nodded, still staring out the window with his brow knotted into a frown. Steve was going to leave it there. if Thor didn’t want to talk, forcing it out of him wouldn’t help. But a few echoing minutes later his friend spoke. 

 

“When you joined the army, did you know it would alter you in ways that could not be undone?” Thor asked, his not-quite-there accent giving it a cryptic quality. 

 

“Uh… sort of? I figured I wouldn’t be the same guy when I came out the other side, that was kind of the point but… I wasn’t really anticipating  _ how _ that would happen, if that’s what you mean?”

 

“What I mean is…” Thor struggled to find the right words, “was it easy? Making a decision that had permanent consequences? Or did it chew at you for weeks?”

 

Steve scratched his head, not having anticipated the somewhat philosophical discussion but if Thor needed it then that’s what they’d have, “I guess it was easy enough. It was a goal and back then I didn’t really have many of those. Same with coming out here, it was either ‘go for it’ or sit doing the same nothing I was doing anyway. Why? What’s going on?”

 

“I can’t tell you yet,” he said and a little, blink-and-you-miss-it smile passed over his face. He gazed up towards the rolling clouds, still mostly obscured by the descending snow, “I like it here. Even if we are not rich, we are happy. That is more important, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Steve agreed. He realised the ranch, such as it was, probably wasn’t making anybody rich anymore. Stark’s money came from the engineering company in California that Pepper flew out every week to run, but the Lone Star was a down-to-earth family place. The kind of home that made folks back in big cities want to up sticks and come west, and Steve was lucky to have found a place in it. 

 

Thor turned to look at him for the first time all day, sounding nervous “will you too be applying to be Stark’s foreman?”

 

“Is that what’s eating you? Darcy mentioned it this morning and I looked it over at lunchtime. Can’t say it didn’t sound nice; better pay, nice house,” Steve gestured around their half-built shell with a smile, but it faltered, “a chance to settle. I don’t know, I figured I haven’t been doing this long enough for Stark to pick me but if I don’t try, I’ll never know.”

 

Thor smiled a little ruefully, “promise you won’t be sour if I’m your new boss?”

  
“Only if you promise the same thing, man,” Steve said with a smile. 


	9. The Barn Dance

Pepper held out yet another silky dress for Darcy’s consideration, this one was leftover after a fundraiser gala a few years ago. 

 

“It’s nice… but isn’t it kinda fancy? It’s only a barn dance,” Darcy said. Pepper looked down at the dress and quickly agreed, sliding it back into the closet. The ‘maybe’ pile on the chaise next to Darcy was big enough already, she thought, but Pepper had a rather extensive collection of potential formal clothes and seemed determined to leave no dress unturned. Darcy already had her outfit for the dance picked out and waiting in her room, along with appropriate shoes and jewellery but Pepper hadn’t gotten that far. 

 

“You’re wearing blue, what colour is Jane wearing? That might make it easier to choose,” Pepper queried.

 

“Jane’s not coming, actually.”

 

“No? How come?”

 

“Oh, she said something about the alignment of Jupiter and… Tatooine, or something. I don’t know” Darcy said. 

 

Pepper narrowed her eyes at her step-daughter, detecting a degree of improvisation that should not exist in someone who’d been helping an astrophysicist for more than three years, “Will she be alright by herself? It’ll be pretty cold out there.”

 

Darcy shrugged. “She’s taking Thor with her. Maybe ‘alignment’ is just code for something else.”

 

“Oh, well, in that case,” Pepper said, for the moment pacified, and went back to rifling through her closet for yet more silk and chiffon.

 

In all honesty, Darcy hadn’t intended to go to the dance either, until Steve had asked her. Growing up in Sacramento, only spending a few months in Convergence each year, barn dances had seemed the height of uncoolness. Her father had brought her along to quite a few, partly to help her become a part of the community here but also so he had a great excuse to do as little dancing himself as possible. But Steve had stood there, nervous and fidgety, like it was his junior prom and Darcy just couldn’t say no. 

 

“What about this one?” Pepper held out a very green and sparkly dress with one sleeve and Darcy shook her head. 

 

Pepper had squealed in delight when Darcy told her Steve was her date, telling her how - since Steve was going to be Sam’s best man - Pepper hadn’t thought she’d get a photograph of the two of them. Pepper had gone into raptures about getting one at the barn dance instead while Darcy suddenly acquired a rock in her stomach: of course Steve would be too busy with his best man duties to be hanging around with her at the wedding. And the best man had to walk back up the aisle with the bridesmaid, and that wasn’t Darcy. She didn’t exactly think Maria Hill had intentions on Steve but it reinforced the fact that Darcy was not part of the plan. All Steve had come here for was to do a little work, get some fresh air, and to watch his friend get married. After that, he’d head back to New York and get on with his life. Darcy was just the girl he’d have fun with in the interim. 

 

Darcy didn’t want to be melancholy about it but it must have shown on her face. 

 

“Darcy?” Pepper called, loudly like she’d repeated her name several times, “you’re getting bored of this, aren’t you?”

 

Darcy blinked and sat up straight. “Sorry, I just… uh, wandered for a minute. I would say the cream coloured one is still best.”

 

***

 

Steve was fairly certain it was possible to comb your hair too much, and that he was fast approaching that point. This was hardly the first time he’d been out with Darcy but all the jitters from the day he asked her to go as his date reared back up ferociously. The dance was a community function, where most people had dates, rather than just the two of them sitting at a table outside The Bus. It was Official. 

 

He glanced down to where his watch ought to be but wasn’t, then panicked for a moment that it was lost and he was late. He’d only taken it off to shower and it was lying perfectly safe on his bedside table. And he had enough time to look himself over in the mirror one last time, make adjustments and be leaving the bunkhouse in exactly three minutes. He left straight away. 

 

Steve came up to the main house just as Tony was leaving to pull a car around and instructed Steve to wait inside. In the foyer he found Trip and Pepper ready at the bottom of the stairs, just waiting on Darcy. Looking at Ms Potts, in her cream wrap dress and sparkling gold jewellery, Steve wondered if he might be under-dressed. After all, he’d not thought to bring any extra formal wear other than his dress uniform for Sam’s wedding and that was probably over-doing it. But Trip was wearing a similar combination of dark jeans and a neatly ironed shirt so Steve put it to the back of his mind. Surely no-one would notice he was wearing the same boots and leather jacket he’d had on the very first day he’d arrived in Convergence. 

 

Rapid thumping on the stairs heralded Darcy, bounding down each step with her short blue dress lifting to reveal creamy thighs in patterned lace tights. Her hair was all trussed up in a bun - Steve had only seen her with it down - and her glasses had been replaced with contacts. 

 

“You look great, Darce,” Steve told her with a warm smile. She blushed ever so slightly and slipped her arm around Steve’s. 

 

“Thanks. You clean up pretty good too,” she replied, tickling the underside of his freshly shaved chin. Both of them squirmed a little when they turned and noticed the knowing, teasing looks being sent their way by Trip and Pepper but Darcy didn’t pull away or let go of his arm. 

 

“Don’t worry, Trip. I’ll save a dance for you,” Steve joked, ignoring the pink tinge on his ears that he was certain was becoming obvious. 

 

“Just remember who taught you everything you know,” Trip said. 

 

Steve was saved from further retort by the sound of tires crunching on the snow and gravel outside, as Tony drove up in a large silver Audi. Pepper slid gracefully into the front passenger seat, and Steve and Trip stood both eyeballing Darcy out of the corner of their eyes. Neither man wanted to sit in - or would likely fit into - the rear middle seat. Darcy made an exaggerated, dramatic sigh and climbed into the middle and strapped in. She propped her flowery ballet shoes on the back of the centre console while Trip and Steve wedged in either side of her. 

 

The drive into town and across to the high school was smooth and quiet, save a short discussion wherein Steve was volunteered to drive home later that night so that the others could all have a drink. Steve didn’t mind; alcohol no longer did to him the things it had done when he was younger. Now it just gave him a headache. They pulled up at the school where there were already quite a few cars and people lined up at the door. They left the car and took up their places in line, soon joined by Sam, who’d been dropped off by a uniformed Natasha in her squad car. 

 

“Lucky for you ladies, Officer Romanov is working this evening,” Sam said, throwing Darcy and Pepper a friendly wink. 

 

The line shuffled steadily forward, getting everyone away from the door and the cold, snowy parking lot as swiftly as possible. They paid for their tickets, with Steve making a small, squeaky noise of protest when Darcy insisted on paying her own way. 

 

“How can I say you’re  _ my _ date if  _ you _ paid?” he complained, at which Tony turned and glared at him, whether for the date part or the old-fashioned chivalry Steve wasn’t sure. Pepper pulled Tony along to where he could make a conspicuous show of putting an eye-watering cheque in the school’s donation box. Darcy told Steve he could put his generosity into the fundraiser instead. 

 

Inside the gym hall there were all the trappings of a typical school dance: the teenage band warming up, with one beleaguered-looking music teacher corralling them into place. There were balloons strewn about the place, waiting to be stood on and popped, as well as tied to the backs of chairs. And there was a large swathe of fabric draped around a banner proclaiming this ‘the 12th Annual Community Fundraiser.’ A Christmas tree sat bone-dry and brittle in one corner, festooned with student-made decorations. Their group found a cluster of free chairs and occupied them with coats and scarves. 

 

Steve and Darcy were quickly sent across the hall in search of drinks, towards a row of trestle tables laden with finger food and potluck contributions as well as a large glass bowl of punch which looked not too far from unset jello. Darcy scooped up one glass for herself, which was then handed to Steve to hold while she dashed back to their seats to give two more glasses of punch to her parents. Steve selected a soda for himself, then turned to laugh as Sam and Trip trailed behind Darcy with calls of ‘where’s ours?’ The four of them grazed the hor d'oeuvres a while before old Mrs Brubaker came right up to press-gang Trip into a dance, and the remaining three were scooted out of the way of the food by other attendees. They found a corner to shuffle into and were soon encircled by a dancefloor of people on one side and on the other, a middle-aged couple, who warmly welcomed Sam and Darcy. 

 

“Glad you could make it, Miss Lewis. No Dr Foster?” the man asked.

 

“No, she’s working; it’s a clear night, good for stargazing,” explained Darcy.

 

“Cold, though.”

 

“Well, she’s got Thor to keep her warm,” said the athletic-looking woman next to him, she turned to Sam with an unapologetic expression, “Sorry I had to give Nat patrol duty tonight but… it was her turn.”

 

“Ah, no sweat,” Sam replied then wrapped one arm over Steve’s shoulder, “I brought some alternative eye-candy instead. This is my good friend, Steve Rogers. He’s working construction on the Lone Star. Steve, this is Nat’s boss, Melinda May, and my boss, Phil Coulson.”

 

He shook hands with both of them and noticed both had the same confident, firm grip that Natasha had had when she’d greeted him. Both cops. Though he learned in conversation that Coulson was no longer in the force, having retired after an injury in the line of duty, and was now the high school principal. Not realising, he quipped, that he’d be kept just as much on his toes by teenagers and the school board as he had been as an officer of the law. 

 

The band finished their song and their teacher, now red-cheeked and frizzy-haired, became a caller, instructing the crowd on the steps for each dance. Trip’s earlier lesson hadn’t really enlightened Steve much and he felt a sudden loss of confidence as Darcy took his soda from him and put it on a nearby chair, then dragged him out onto the dancefloor. She positioned him the way all the other couples were standing and looked up at him with an excited grin. The band stirred. 

 

“Darcy, I… I really don’t know the steps,” he admitted. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of her. Nor in front of people he worked with or half the town but especially not Darcy. 

 

She giggled, “Just do your best and copy Trip.”

 

She nodded her head over to where Trip was still firmly in the clutches of Mrs Brubaker, “We’ll make a country boy out of you yet, Rogers.”

 

What followed was the apparent compression of an entire hour of fast-tempo twirling and stepping into the space of just three minutes. Steve knew that his face must have taken on a grave expression, since Darcy kept laughing at him and telling him to relax. But if he lost focus for even a second, if he looked at Darcy’s joyous smile too long, he fell behind and became in danger of being steamrolled by the other dancers. Or worse, causing a domino effect collision that spanned the entire dancefloor. 

 

But Steve made it to the end without injury or mishap, and he let out a relieved sigh at the final note. Darcy laughed and hugged her arms around his waist. He could feel her heart beating against his chest from the exertion and hugged her back, subtly pressing his lips to her forehead. But Darcy was having none of the inconspicuousness and looked up at him mischievously before standing on her tiptoes and smacking a kiss right on his mouth. 

 

Not that Steve minded. 

 

Then there was the telltale snap of a camera shutter. They parted and looked over to where Pepper was standing holding her phone up with impunity. 

 

Thankfully, Darcy let Steve off with just the one dance - she pretended her feet hurt but he knew she was taking it easy on the first-timer. He tried to stamp down a flare of jealousy when she got her second wind and stepped out onto the dancefloor with Trip and then Sam instead of him, but she always came back to sit beside Steve. He would go and fetch her drinks or snacks and Darcy would drape her arm over his shoulder. 

  
It was a nice set-up, watching his girl twirl around the floor, laughing with flushed cheeks. He supposed that was it then, Darcy  _ was _ his girl. And everybody saw it, everybody knew. And anyone who didn’t, well, a small town like Convergence would soon let them know. At least, everyone in Steve’s new Wyoming-life knew. He’d find the words to tell his buddies back home somehow. 


	10. The Badge That Weighs On You

Tony rubbed his eyes, which burned with tiredness. It was late at night, everyone else was tucked up in bed, and the office was growing colder by the minute. He’d opened the window for the fresh air to keep him awake but it was just sapping him of all body heat. Spread out before him on the big oak desk were handwritten notes, brainstormed pages, resumés, and employee personnel files for the six different men all vying for the position of foreman. Three were stacked up on top of each other, having been put in the unofficial ‘No’ pile, and the remaining were three fanned out on the desktop. Each man had strengths and weaknesses, but none overwhelming enough for Tony to make a decision. And whenever he got close to calling it, he would be reminded of the weight of some of the repercussions hanging over this choice. Repercussions that were out of his control. He didn’t just have the ranch and this damned rustling problem to consider, there were families and relationships that would be affected too.

 

Relationships that were already being affected, really. Darcy had become sad and unresponsive now that Steve had gone back to New York to spend Christmas with his friends. Tony tried to remind his daughter that Rogers wasn’t manna from heaven; he had a life that he presumably would want to go back to at some point, and Tony just didn’t want to see his little girl get hurt. But he wasn’t as good at fatherly talks as he might like, so it had come out sounding like a lecture, like a dig at Steve. Darcy had huffed off to her room, trying not to cry, and Pepper told Tony to go get some work done in the office while she put out his fires. 

 

But that had been some hours ago and the clock had already chimed midnight. A soft knock came at the door left ajar, and Tony looked up to see Pepper poking her head in from the hallway. She curled her long fingers around the edge of the door, and Tony could see the wafting hem of a dress shirt being worn as a nightdress. He sighed with relief at the excuse to not have to think about this for a little longer. 

 

“Come to bed, Tony. It’s time to call it a night,” Pepper pleaded. She sauntered around behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She was warm, like she’d already been in bed waiting for him. 

 

“I gotta make a decision, Pep,” he answered, massaging his temple. 

 

“You can put it off until after Christmas,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

 

“Yeah but I feel like I’m gonna get to January first and still be in the same position I am now. There are too many variables,” Tony grumbled. 

 

Pepper sighed and came around the chair and sat herself astride Tony’s lap, blocking his view of the desk, “Okay, then. Simplify it. Don’t look at the notes, or the files, or anything. Just explain it to me. Go.”

 

Tony ran his hands over her thighs, sighing and pouting and nuzzling into her loose shirt, but Pepper shook her head and cupped Tony’s face in both hands.

 

“Uh-uh. Tell me. Start at the beginning, how many on your short list?”

 

“Six.”

 

“Anybody we don’t know?”

 

“Some jerk who’s high up on Pierce’s payroll up in Sheridan.”

 

“Well, he’s not getting it. So that’s one down, five to go,” she assured him, stroking his hair. Tony tried to peep past her to the manilla files on the desk but she tutted him back, “Off the top of your head, Mr Stark.”

 

“God, are you using the CEO voice on me?” Tony laughed but Pepper just looked at him expectantly . “It’s sexy when you use the CEO voice.”

 

“Tony, if you hurry up and answer we can go to bed and use the CEO voice,” she warned, “Who else?”

 

He let out a whine and tipped his head back onto the chair, lifting one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Rumlow’s a jerk, he’s out. And Ward acts like he knows everything when he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the wall.”

 

“So you’ve halved the problem already, keep going.”

 

“Then it comes down to Steve, Thor, and Rhodey.”

 

“Rhodey’s back?” Pepper exclaimed, delightedly, “Well, that’s easy, isn’t it? You don’t want to work with your best friend again?”

 

“He hasn’t worked on a ranch since the last time he was with me, and Rogers and Odinson were probably still learning to colour in between the lines back then,” Tony said, staring at the ceiling, “They’re younger, fitter, faster than him.”

 

“Okay, so what about Steve? Why isn’t he a shoo-in?” 

 

“He has the least experience in ranching out of all of them. I mean, I don’t think the army hands out ‘Captain’ just for shining your buttons real good but… “

 

“Is this about the thing with Darcy?” Pepper winced.

 

Tony supposed she had every right to make that face, he must be getting irritating about the whole thing. He had no concrete reason to dislike Steve seeing Darcy, just that sort of territorial tetchiness that fathers got. Back when Darcy had gotten her very first boyfriend, she’d been living with her mother so it had been old news by the time Tony actually got to hear about it. And any boyfriends after that had been at college on the other side of the country. Maybe he was just looking to make up for lost opportunities to sit on the porch and polish the shotgun, but there was something old-fashioned snarling away in his head about Steve just waltzing in and whisking Darcy off without asking. 

 

“Looks kinda bad, giving the top job to my daughter’s boyfriend - which I might gag at the thought of,” Tony squirmed in his chair a little, “and if… if he’s just getting with Darcy to try and… ingratiate himself with me, I’ll kick his ass.”

 

Pepper snorted and gently tapped at the scar on Tony’s chest,“Pfft. He’s a combat veteran, you have a pacemaker. You are not going to kick his ass.”

 

“Yeah, well, if they break up and I went and gave him the job… ugh. Conflict of interest.” 

 

“Keep going then, what about Thor?” Pepper ran her finger down his cheek. 

 

“He’s too laid-back. I feel like he wouldn’t follow up on the other guys as much as Steve would,” Tony pressed the heels of his hands against his brow, then swiped his hands down his face, “but Thor’s the one who needs the fatter paycheque out of all of them.”

 

Pepper frowned in confusion, Thor hadn’t seemed to be struggling this past year.  Tony peered through his splayed fingers with apprehension.

 

“If you don’t know, I feel bad telling you,” Tony said, muffled by his hand, “I’m under strict instructions not to blab…”

 

“But…?”

  
“But… Jane’s ten weeks pregnant.”


	11. The Midnight Rider

If anything, Darcy was glad of the work over New Year: her parents had gone on vacation to Manhattan to ring in January 1st and left her in charge of the ranch. A few of the cowhands were still there, Brock and Grant, and Thor and Jane stayed rather than trail all the way down to Jane’s family in Oklahoma. But obviously it was the same amount of work as any other time over winter, with considerably fewer hands. Hard though it was, Darcy knew that less work would mean more time to sit idle and think. 

 

She didn’t want to think about much anymore. No matter where she started thinking, it always came around to one thing - that she was going nowhere fast. Everywhere she looked on the ranch there were reminders that she had stalled ever since she got out of college. She hadn’t garnered any job offers, and by the time she had been set on moving out to Wyoming her passion to look for any had dried up like a California creek in July. 

 

Jane had a passion. One that had seen her through long spates of no funding and no back-up. Now she had a clear run to follow that passion, as well as a supportive boyfriend and  _ a baby coming. _ Darcy loved Jane like a sister and wouldn’t want to take any of that from her but she often wished a little of Jane’s momentum would rub off on her. A baby might be a bit much but it only emphasised how Jane’s life was changing and Darcy’s was not. 

 

She had been getting a glimmer of hope with Steve. But now and then she would get a cold reminder that Steve was only here for a limited time. Any time she overheard Natasha or Sam talking about wedding plans, or saw supplies arriving for this or that on the foreman’s house, she would know that she had less and less time with Steve by her side. Right now he was in Brooklyn, with his friends, with the life he’d had before he came to Convergence and that he would return to after he’d finished there. 

 

And that would leave Darcy exactly where she’d started. Taking up space on her father’s ranch. 

 

She really, really didn’t want to dwell on it. It only made her morose. So she mucked out the stables, and brushed down each and every horse, checked over the hay stocks, tended the chickens, repaired doors that stuck, shovelled snow. She rode out with Brock and Grant to feed the cattle. She helped Mr Jarvis with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

 

And it was just as she was giving the kitchen counter one final wipe down that she turned to the window and saw lights. In the distance, over by the west pasture, where Steve always told her he’d seen them late at night. It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Steve but she’d never seen those lights before now. 

 

It was far too late for anyone to be out checking cattle, and it would be foolhardy to take a truck out there in the snow anyway. But if someone wanted to rob them of every animal they had, they couldn’t do much better than to pick the moment when half the workforce had gone away. Darcy would never forgive herself if such a thing happened on her watch. Going out there to check might be a pain in the neck but she’d eat herself up with guilt if she didn’t. 

 

She grabbed a spare coat from the hangers in the front hall and shoved her feet back into her boots. She trudged over to the bunkhouse, footsteps crunching in the snow, and didn’t care who she woke as she thumped her boots on the step to kick off the slush. Inside she found a quiet, sleepy house, with the living room flickering with light from the tv. In a reclined armchair, Sitwell was dozing and snorted awake at her entrance. 

 

“Hey, did anyone go out to check the cattle just now?” she asked. 

 

“Uh, no?” he replied in a dazed voice, eyes darting around the room for someone to back him up. “Ah, wait, um, Brock and Grant went out for a smoke, I think. I didn’t hear ‘em come back in. Maybe they’re in the barn?”

 

Darcy looked back at the boot pile by the door and sure enough, Rumlow and Ward’s boots were both missing. She nodded at Sitwell and went back outside, heading for the barn. She supposed that she probably shouldn’t yell at them too much for smoking where they knew they shouldn’t; it was beyond freezing, and they’d likely refuse to go help her check the cattle if she was coarse. 

 

There were no fresh tracks in the snow but her own; those from earlier in the day were already half filled. The barn didn’t look occupied. 

 

She pulled the door open, the cold metal handle stinging even through her glove. 

 

“Brock?” Darcy called into the barn, “Grant? You guys there?” 

 

She was met with eerie silence, nothing coming from the barn but the soft creaking of the old building. The whole place was dark and undisturbed, if Rumlow or Ward had come out here they were long gone. To where, she had no idea. And when she found out, both of them were in for a chewing-out. Though they were at perfect liberty to do what they wanted with their evenings, with trespassing and rustling an ongoing problem it was a sore lack of judgement to go wandering off at night. Or perhaps they’d gone out to check the disturbance themselves, but without telling Darcy. She wouldn’t put it past either of them to ignore her position in the ranch’s hierarchy, but something in her gut told her that wasn’t what was going on. 

 

When Darcy rushed to open up the stables she saw all the horses present and accounted for, stirring lazily at her entrance. A little voice said that maybe they’d gone out in a truck, but not only had she heard no engine and spotted no tire tracks, she’d have seen the lights heading out to meet the others. Something just wasn’t sitting right with her, and she gathered up a saddle and reins. Space was the only horse as awake as she was, and she hastily flung on the gear. In the distance she heard the cattle getting more and more antsy, and Darcy pulled herself up into the saddle. She urged Space to trot, wondering how fast she dare go in the dark with only a small flashlight, and headed off into the night, leaving the stables open and lit up. 

 

The cold bit at her skin, and she saw her breath in thick puffs. The snow was deeper on the trails, having had less traffic than the house and the outbuildings to wear it down, and Darcy wished she’d put on more layers. But as she got closer, heading up through frozen pasture, she saw that the lights were indeed those of a truck. It seemed larger than any of the ones the ranch owned and, stretching her arm out with the flashlight, she could just make out glimpses of a large livestock trailer. 

 

“Hey! Who’s there!?” Darcy hollered, with immediate effect. Whoever was messing around with their cattle stopped, poking their heads up like frightened prairie dogs, and cutting off their own lights. She slowed Space to a careful walk. She was on edge now, eyes straining in the dark and trying to pick out the slightest movement. Above her own nervous breathing and the restless animals, she could hear tense whispering, and a clicking noise. 

 

“No way, man. You do it,” one voice hissed, barely audible.

 

“Fine,” its companion answered bitterly, in a familiar voice. There were a few soft footsteps and then a flash of light and an almighty bang. 

 

Darcy shrieked at the gunfire, though nothing hit her. Space reared up sharply, whinnying with terror, and throwing Darcy rapidly backwards to the ground. She landed flat on her back with a thud, and pain burst into her head for one lightning fast moment before she passed out. 

 

***

 

Steve was warm and cosy. After a good dinner and a few beers, he was sitting on Bucky’s couch getting ready to fall asleep and watching Clint make kissy faces at his dog. Bucky was in an armchair, channel surfing and complaining about there being nothing on this late at night, which Steve and Clint promptly ignored. Steve’s feet were on the coffee table, in between empty bottles, tv remotes and cell phones. It was like he’d never been away. 

 

And that, Steve was starting to think, was the problem. Nothing was different, as if the last few months had all been a dream. It sure sounded like a dream too: he went west, got a job, rode a horse, and went dancing with a nice girl. Even down to the bit where Pepper saw him in his underwear. He might wake up tomorrow, having never set foot in the state of Wyoming and with Bucky telling him not to watch  _ Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid _ before bed. He missed it. Darcy, the ranch, the peace and quiet, even Liberty. 

 

“What’s eating you?” Bucky asked, having settled the tv on a rerun of  _ Friends _ . 

 

“Nothing.”

 

Bucky snorted, “Yeah, right. You got a face like the Yankees are winning. What’s up?”

 

Steve shrugged and shifted in his seat, avoiding Bucky’s gaze in favour of looking at Clint massaging Lucky’s ears, “I don’t know, Buck. It’s like… everything’s the same, except it’s different. I’m different. I don’t know if I like it or not.”

 

“Yeah, welcome to my world, Stevie,” Bucky said, with a lazy wave of his hand towards Clint, “and his.”

 

Clint spotted the gesture out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Steve and Bucky looking at him, “Uh… were you guys talking to me? I took my hearing aids out like… two hours ago.” 

 

Bucky and Steve laughed gently and settled into the sofa. Any concerns Clint might have had that he’d missed some vital part of a conversation were abated by Lucky giving him a big slurping kiss to the face. 

 

“You know, if I was getting smooches off a gal like the one you got out there, I’d be complaining about sitting with you bozos too,” Bucky said. 

 

Steve looked over at his friend, surprised and guilty. He hadn’t really told Bucky or Clint much of anything about Darcy, not beyond getting her number and taking her out for lunch. He wasn’t sure why, he just never quite found the words to say how soothed he felt by her without making it seem like a wrench to come back to New York. 

 

“How’d you know about that?” Steve asked. 

 

Bucky made a smug face while he swiped through his phone, bringing up the photo of Steve and Darcy kissing that Pepper had taken at the barn dance. Steve chewed his lip, he’d never really gotten much of an actual look at that picture. He looked different somehow than he thought he did normally. Like his brow wasn’t so creased with a frown, a dorky smile tugging at his lips. He looked happy. 

 

Bucky shook his head, “You’re gonna go the same way as Wilson, I’m telling you.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

Steve told himself not to entertain that thought too much and went back to staring at the tv. 

 

The quiet snoozing all three men were relaxing into was sharply interrupted by Lucky barking and leaping from her spot on Clint’s lap, pointing towards one of the cell phones on the coffee table. It was lit up and vibrating against the table. When he leaned over, Steve saw his phone reading  _ Pepper Potts _ on its screen. It was after midnight, and the thought of why she might be calling so late made Steve very awake. 

 

“Ms Potts?” he answered, bolt upright now. 

 

“ _ Steve! _ ” she cried on the other end, “ _ Steve, oh my god. Darcy, she… she’s in the hospital. Sh-she went out to check the cattle, the horse threw her, she hit her head, I don’t know, Thor said he heard a gunshot.” _

 

She descended into hiccoughing and sniffling in panic, managing to talk through crying to tell him that she and Tony were flying back as soon as possible and that Steve ought to come with them. The floor dropped out from underneath him at the word ‘gunshot,’ with sights and sounds playing back in his head. Gunshots meant someone he loved got hurt. His face must have turned ashen, as Bucky and Clint sat up straight with concerned, serious faces. Steve swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe before he threw up, and he caught the tail end of Ms Potts telling him they’d come pick him up soon.

 

“ _ Steve? Are you still there?” _

 

_ “Steve?” _

 

“Yeah, I…” he said thickly, hands starting to shake, “I’ll be ready.”

 

_ “O-okay, Tony’s sending a car to come get you in about… forty minutes.” _

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

Pepper made her sniffling ‘see you laters’ and hung up, then Steve found some previously undiscovered energy. He bounded off the sofa and zipped back to his room to pack, with Bucky, Clint and the dog trailing behind. Forty minutes was entirely too long and also no time at all. 

 

***

 

Steve hated hospitals. He and the people he cared about spent far too much time in them. 

 

He was sweltering in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the ER’s stuffy waiting room, fighting the pull of sleep. He was drained after the quick exit in New York, the flight, the drive, and the endless waiting. Tony and Pepper had been called through by a young Asian doctor, who told them all that Darcy had woken up. That left Steve, Thor and Jane sitting in limbo.  Thor, face like thunder, glared a hole in the coffee table. And Jane pulled apart kleenex, occasionally wiping them at her eyes. 

 

Dr Cho had intended to console them, telling them Darcy was awake. But it just filled Steve with more questions and more worry. Dr Cho had said Darcy hadn’t been altogether sure where she was, but that this was somewhat expected with such a bump to the head and that in fact Darcy was lucky not to have sustained greater injury. Steve just wanted to get in there and scoop her up, hug her close and never let anyone near her again. 

 

Natasha and Melinda had quizzed Thor on what he’d seen and heard; the gunshot in the distance, running out at full pelt with nothing more against the cold than his coat over his pyjamas, finding Brock and Grant already there to help, then getting Darcy in the ambulance. Both women looked disappointed and frustrated as they explained there probably wouldn’t be much to go on. Whatever tracks the shooter and the truck had made would already be filled in with snow. Rumlow and Ward hadn’t seen anything, having only just followed Darcy out into the dark, knowing she was looking for them. The only person who could provide any more was Darcy herself, and Dr Cho had overseen the briefest of interviews with Undersheriff May in which Darcy hadn’t remembered much at all. 

 

Tony had been beside himself with worry and anger - someone  _ dared _ to come onto his ranch, try to steal his cattle, and shoot at his daughter - but he’d dissolved into silence the closer they got to the hospital. He’d sat alert like a guard dog every time a doctor or nurse had gone past the waiting room until finally being allowed to go see Darcy. And neither he nor Pepper had come back out yet. 

 

Steve probably wouldn’t be let in, he thought. He wasn’t her family, he wasn’t her  _ husband _ . He was just some fella she’d been smooching for a few months. Bucky had said that Steve would follow the same path as Sam and right now Steve would give anything to be Darcy’s husband. He wouldn’t make too bad of a husband, would he?

 

Dr Cho came back around the corner and stopped in front of their little trio, slumped along one row of chairs. She smiled patiently down at them when they peered up, dazed and anxious. 

 

“It’s out of visiting hours, and you’re not family,” she warned, “but she’s asked for you, so I’ll allow you to see Miss Lewis for just a few moments. Then you should be going home and getting some sleep.”

 

Steve stood up out of his chair, to attention out of habit. “Thank you, ma’am,” then corrected himself, “Doctor.”

 

She led the three of them back to a private room, in which Tony and Pepper were sitting next to the bed. Darcy lay back, apparently asleep again, looking washed out and tired. Pepper turned as they crept through the door and vacated her seat but Tony didn’t even look at them. 

 

“Just a few minutes,” Dr Cho reminded them. 

 

Steve stared at Darcy as her eyes fluttered open. She frowned at the bright lights and Steve just wanted to go over there and shower her with kisses, cuddle her close. But head injuries were serious business and he held back for fear of being ungentle. Darcy slowly got her bearings, taking in all other people now watching her. She smiled weakly and held out her free hand for Steve to take. He scooted closer to her, watching to see if Tony would get tetchy about it but Stark was paying attention only to Darcy. 

 

“Hey, Darce,” Steve croaked thickly, “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Sleepy… kinda sick,” she answered, then thought of something, “How’s Space?”

 

Steve’s blood ran cold - was she being given morphine or something? Why did she think he had anything to do with outer space? Dr Cho had said she was getting better. Thor chuckled and answered from the end of the bed, “Space is fine.”

 

Space was the horse. 

 

Steve let out the breath he was holding and shuddered into a weak, teary laugh. He slowly brought Darcy’s hand up to kiss her knuckles, “God, I was so worried.”

 

Darcy pulled her hand loose from his hold and cupped his face, stroking her thumb across his cheek. “You came back from New York?”

 

“Yeah, couldn’t leave my best girl, could I?” Steve replied, kissing her palm. “Babydoll, what were you even doing out there?”

 

Darcy licked her lips, “I saw those lights, the ones you said. Brock and Grant weren’t there…”

 

“Yes, they were, sweetheart,” Tony corrected. “They found you.”

 

But that just confused Darcy even more; her brows became pinched and she shook her head gently. But whatever thought she’d started on had trailed away to nothing, and she asked for a drink of water. Tony helped her take a few sips, then Darcy leaned back into the pillows, peering up at them all sleepily. 

 

Dr Cho poked her head around the door, looking at each of them in turn, silently telling them their few minutes were up. 

 

Steve gave Darcy his biggest and best puppy dog eyes and promised he would come back and see her tomorrow. He leaned forward and tickled Darcy’s cheek with the gentlest, most delicate kiss imaginable. Her normal self would protest at being treated like spun glass but now she just sighed softly and let sleep pull at her. He squeezed her hand and finally stood up and walked back to the door. Thor and Jane each made Darcy similar promises to visit and sneak her in food, before they shuffled out of the room. Darcy frowned and turned to her father 

 

“There was something I was meant to tell you. But I…” she struggled to find words for what she wanted to say. 

 

“Honey, if you don’t remember, you don’t remember, it’s okay,” Tony soothed as Darcy continued to get frustrated at the holes in her memory. If she ever remembered, Steve never heard it as Dr Cho firmly closed the door as she escorted them back out. 

 

They drove back to the ranch in emotionally exhausted silence. By the time they got back, the winter sun was creeping above the horizon; Steve hadn’t noticed the time. It hardly seemed real, that only yesterday he woke up in his old room in the apartment with Bucky and now he was back on the Lone Star. Brooklyn and Convergence both became dreams when he was in one or the other, and it was hard to tell which was more real. 

  
Steve fell asleep still dressed on the couch in the main house, and dreamed nothing at all. 


	12. Build Your Nest Out West

“We’re almost ready to start putting in fittings and such, if you had ‘em picked out?” Steve asked of Tony at lunch. His eyes darted between his boss and his bread, mopping up the last of his food, “you know, like faucets, tiling, lights, that stuff. Better to get those in before the good flooring goes down… which you’ll need to pick too.”

 

Thor had been nudging at Tony to get these things ordered for a couple of weeks now, with no luck. Tony’s head wasn’t in the right space for interior decorating - he was counting cattle, and thinking about fences, and feed and snow, and security. And from the look on the man’s face as he picked at his chili, it was clear the foreman’s house hadn’t entered into it at all, never mind the foreman who would live in it. 

 

“Right, uh…” Tony started, giving up on his lunch and rubbing at his forehead, “I could… no, I can’t do that today, I got Banner coming over… ah…”

 

“I could do it, Dad,” Darcy peeped up as she piled her plate onto others for Mr Jarvis to clear away. “You could give me the card for the account with the insurance money in it, and I could take care of it.”

 

Tony gave his daughter a hard stare across the table. Steve didn’t see what was wrong with that idea - Darcy already did grocery shopping and clothing orders, she’d be perfectly good at picking out stuff for the house. But Stark was looking at her like she was asking from her hospital bed. 

 

“I promise not to even buy shoes with it,” she deflected. 

 

Her father stared at her a bit longer. Doctor Cho had cleared her for light duties, exceedingly light duties, which Tony had taken to mean no duties at all. Steve went to the store with her and Darcy wasn’t even allowed to push the cart, Jane brought her the mail each day. He had even glimpsed Mr Jarvis out feeding the chickens. Darcy must be feeling hemmed in and bored stupid, and catalogue and online shopping would surely do her no harm. 

 

“Please, Daddy?” she begged, wobbling her lip. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“You’re right,” Tony ran his hand across his face, and reached into his back pocket. “Just… take it easy, okay? Make that guy do all the work,” he said pointing at Steve. 

 

Tony slipped out the appropriate card and held it out to Darcy. She tucked it into the breast pocket of her shirt and said facetiously, “God, you fall off one horse and you’re tarred for life.”

 

Steve and Darcy agreed that she would come out with them to the house that afternoon, to start a list of what she needed to shop for and relevant measurements. They’d need to wait for Thor to get back from town for precise electric stuff. 

 

And speak of the devil, that was the moment that Thor and Jane tumbled in through the door, all giddy and smiling. Darcy immediately went to Jane for a hug and to look at a piece of paper that Jane held in her hand. She let out an ear-piercing squeal of delight and the two women hugged some more, spinning themselves in little circles. 

 

Thor too had some papers in his hand, which looked more like polaroids now that Steve took a closer look. He approached the table, leaving Darcy and Jane to their own devices, and looked to Tony for permission. 

 

“You go right ahead, big guy,” Tony said, sitting back in his chair, “I was very good: I only blabbed to Pepper… and Natasha… and Bruce.”

 

Thor’s grin was unconfined; he stood up tall and puffed his chest out to address his colleagues, “Jane and I are expecting a child! He or she should be here by the end of the summer.”

 

The guys at the lunch table all let out simultaneous calls of surprise and congratulations, passing around one of the copies of the scan Thor had. Steve wasn’t altogether sure what he was looking at, there was a vaguely baby-shaped shadow in there, but he made some appropriate appreciative noises all the same. Thor talked at length of sending copies of it to various family members across Europe; his parents in Iceland, an aunt in Sweden, another in Denmark, and even his brother in London. He and Jane sat down at the table, where Jane commandeered Tony’s leftovers, both of them happy and proud. 

 

Thor’s delight lasted about a week. After that he was inundated with letters from his family and friends back home. While most were full of congratulations and well-wishes, the one from his father was extensive and admonishing. As far as Steve could work out, Odin had been calling his eldest son an irresponsible tomcat, or words to that effect, and had far less polite things to say about Jane. Thor’s mother had sent two letters; the first with her initial reaction of bright anticipation, the second being an attempt at damage control after witnessing or guessing her husband’s poor response. But her words of comfort and reassurance did little to quell the storm that raged over Thor, and Steve had learned long ago that it was best to just leave him to it. Thor was hot-blooded and the shouting and gesturing were not directed at Steve. Thor just needed him to listen. 

 

Once he’d run out of steam, three full days afterwards, Thor chose not to reply to his father at all. He wrote back to his mother telling her that she, and she alone, would be most welcome to come visit her grandchild. And he confided in Steve that with every letter that came from Odin’s desk, Thor understood more and more his brother’s flat refusal to visit home. Neither son it seemed would be spared their father’s heavy-handed standards. If Loki had answered his brother, Thor said nothing of it. 

 

To make matters, and tempers, worse, they’d all awoken one day to find a good half dozen cattle missing. Spring was peeking around the corner, with new growth all across the valley trying hard to push through the snow, closer and closer each day. Being down some heads of cattle would hurt and everyone knew it. Tony seemed to suddenly acquire new gray hairs each morning. And Steve couldn’t even find it in himself to be cross at Rumlow when the guy tore past him in his truck and damn near ran Steve over. 

 

Steve knew, from what Darcy had hinted at, that every penny counted at the Lone Star Ranch. Stark Industries pulled in good money to say the least, but only Tony’s personal wealth got put back into the ranch and it wasn’t giving out what Tony was putting in. Good business sense would be to sell up, like Alexander Pierce wanted, but this ranch was far more to Stark than just a source of income. It was his roots in Convergence. Tony would work himself into the ground before he thought about selling, and Steve was beginning to see the weariness and despair in the man’s face.  He once even heard him mutter about ‘doing it the old fashioned way’ and stationing men on horseback through the night. 

 

Steve felt kind of helpless; he wasn’t really a rancher, the only way he could see of easing Stark’s woes was to pick up the pace on the house. The sooner it was finished, the sooner there would be a foreman in it, lending a hand, even if it would mean the end of Steve’s time out west. Every option weighed heavy - to be finished sooner would likely mean splitting with Darcy and heading back to Brooklyn, but he didn’t want her family to struggle or be forced to sell their heritage just to keep him on longer.  Unless, of course, Stark saw fit to choose Steve to be foreman. There were bound to be more qualified and experienced folks applying for that job, and he didn’t want to hang too much on his chances. It was a faint and distant glimmer of hope, but it was also a gap through which Steve’s imagination poured daydream after daydream of him in that house, with Darcy by his side, and maybe some little ones. 

 

The image was hard to shake off, given that Darcy was around a lot more; coming by the house with samples and catalogues, and materials that had been delivered. Well, Thor took the materials into and out of the truck, Darcy just came along anyway. She’d cuddle up to Steve’s side and ask what he thought of this or that kitchen unit, one paint sample or another. She’d bring out hot lunch for the three of them in tupperware, to save slogging all the way back to the house through the snow despite protests from her father that she was still technically in recovery. Darcy bundled herself up and came out all the same. 

 

But there came one morning when Tony called Thor through to the office after breakfast and Steve had to head out to work on his own. Darcy gave him a puzzled and uncertain face as he left, and she stayed to help Mr Jarvis with the washing up. Steve drove the truck out and got to it but couldn’t help chewing his lip with concern. Surely Thor wasn’t getting fired? For starters he hadn’t done anything to merit that, but Steve had also heard Tony firmly assuring Thor that he and Jane would be looked after. Did that mean Thor was getting the foreman’s job? 

 

Steve didn’t find out that day, since Thor was pretty tight-lipped when he was dropped off by Tony an hour or so later. Steve wasn’t one for prying, and Thor didn’t give much away and instead quizzed Steve whether he thought Jane might like to get married. The man yammered on about Americans still wanting to do things in a traditional order, which Steve knew was true but also was a distraction, meant to keep Steve from asking other kinds of questions. When Jane had been in the early stages of pregnancy, Thor kept it quiet pretty easily. But he wasn’t so good at keeping other people’s secrets. Whatever Tony had talked to him about, there had obviously been orders to keep it off Steve’s radar. 

  
Thor wasn’t doing it to hurt Steve, he didn’t think, so he just buckled down to work. 


	13. Let Me Be The One That Got Away

Pepper was waiting on the front porch for Steve that Saturday morning, while Darcy was slowly working herself back into the routine of putting out breakfast. Pepper usually dressed down on weekends, probably the only time she really could, but today she was a little more smart. She took him through to the office, and Steve couldn’t even wave to Darcy because the kitchen door had been closed over. Worry fizzed in the back of Steve’s head. Was he in trouble? Surely it was a bit late to be raking him over the coals for that whole jumping out of Darcy’s window half-naked thing?

 

Pepper sat on the edge of the desk and smiled sympathetically at Steve. She never asked him to sit, so he had to fight down the habit of standing to attention. He stood at ease instead, but it didn’t actually make him feel less like he was going to get rapped over the knuckles. 

 

“I thought I should let you know that Tony has chosen James Rhodes to be the new foreman,” Pepper said gently, “I’m sorry, Steve.”

 

Steve’s gaze hit the floor and he was surprised at how let down he felt. Not that he’d been so big-headed to think he was a shoo-in for the job but he’d been hopeful. 

 

“It was a really tough call to make, we hated choosing between you guys,” Pepper offered. He heard the words but didn’t really know how to respond, so he just nodded his head softly. He’d not allowed himself to think too far into the future, taking each day as it came, but that meant he really had no plan B; the house would be finished soon enough, and James Rhodes would come live in it, and Steve would be out of a job. The original intent had been to work up to Sam’s wedding and then head back to New York, where Bucky and Clint were waiting for him to resume his old life. But Steve found he really didn’t want much of his old life anymore.

 

“The others who applied have been told either by me or Tony, he’s planning to make an announcement at breakfast today,” Pepper explained. Steve jerked as he felt her place her hand on his arm and she asked, “Are you going to be okay, Steve?”

 

“I’m fine,” he answered, a little thicker than he would like, “it’s… it is what it is. Thank you for considering me.” 

 

Steve headed back towards the kitchen when Pepper’s sympathetic eyes got too much for him. He tried to tell himself that it  _ was _ okay. That he wasn’t meant to stay here forever. But this place had so quickly settled into him that he’d just plain forgotten. Inside the kitchen he found Darcy placing a steaming hot dish of sausages on the table, at which Thor and Jane were already sat eyeing up their breakfasts. Jane had been eating a lot more at meals these days, which was good. 

 

Darcy looked up at him with commiseration all over her face. Tony must have told her ages ago. And Thor must have known too, that neither of them got the job they were after. It explained why he’d been so quiet the last couple of days, and why Rumlow seemed to constantly have a bee in his bonnet. Steve gave Darcy a sad smile and let her give him a quick hug before he took his place at the table. He stayed quiet all through breakfast and so did Darcy, right the way through Tony’s little announcement, even the part about Thor and Jane moving into the cottage instead of Rhodes who would take their section in the main house. Steve tried to stamp down on the spreading sensation of disappointment - Thor got the house, a place to live and raise a family, and what did he get? A time-stamp on his employment and a one-way ticket back to Brooklyn. This was the plan, he told himself. This was the  _ plan _ . He would go home and Darcy? She would get on with whatever the heck she wanted to do with her life. And it wouldn’t involve him. 

 

He knew it was stupid and unnecessarily vindictive but the more Darcy stayed quiet, the more Steve felt she wanted it this way. That he was little more than a fling, a body to warm her bed or the back of her truck until she didn’t need him anymore. That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t  _ true. _

 

But an insidious little voice in the back of his head kept whispering things at him; the same voice that snipped and hissed and called him a killer, filling his head with sand and smoke. It made him ornery and unsociable. He even ducked out of his weekly trail ride with Darcy, which instantly brought him under suspicion of being more upset than he was letting on. Which he was, but Steve didn’t think he could deal with anybody’s sympathy anymore, no matter how well meaning.

 

“I’m fine, Darcy, I’m just tired, is all,” he’d explained, after she’d asked if he was okay and peered up at him with concerned puppy eyes. 

 

“Did you want me to bring you some cocoa? It’s still pretty cold in that house, and you guys are in it all week…”

 

“No, I’m good. I’m just going to take it easy today, yeah?” Steve kept trying to take steps backwards, but Darcy just stayed close. Steve wasn’t the guy who could just pretend everything was the same. He felt bad pushing her away but if he didn’t, everything would come spilling out and that just wasn’t necessary. 

 

“Steve, I know you must be disappointed…” she started, trying to wrap herself around his waist but he stopped her and pushed her arms away. 

 

“It’s fine!” he snapped, perhaps too harshly given the way Darcy startled, “I’m fine, I just need to… chill out and think for a bit. I’d like some space to do that. On my own.”

 

Darcy didn’t say anything and Steve turned and walked back to the bunkhouse, where he was eternally grateful to have that tiny corner of a room all to himself to stew in for the day, the week, the one after it. He let himself fall into an emotional ditch and flatly refused to climb back out of it. 

 

***

 

The clatter and clang of metal poles echoed right through Darcy’s head as she watched the framework for a big marquee take shape. There was plenty work she could be doing now that Dr Cho had cleared her for it but her father wasn’t convinced. He’d given Brock the job of guarding the cattle - and made sure Brock knew to keep Darcy well out of it - and set her to putting out some coffee for the workmen assembling the marquee. She hadn’t argued, and took to sitting on the fence watching them. She wouldn’t admit it but each peg or bolt that was put in place felt like a nail in a coffin. Sam’s wedding was only a few short days away and it felt like Steve wanted to fly home as soon as the cake got cut. 

 

That was something of an exaggeration, she told herself, sighing as a spring breeze wafted through her hair. Steve was working hard with Thor on finishing the house. It still had a ways to go to be livable, but the lion’s share of that was painting and decorating, putting in furniture, and they didn’t need an army captain to do that. But with a faster pace, there seemed to be no time at all for Steve to spend with Darcy. Or maybe there was and this was just Steve’s way of pulling back before he left. She felt incredibly foolish, that somehow she’d quietly talked herself into thinking Steve would stay, and stay for her. Like Sam did for Natasha. But obviously that wasn’t how it was going to be, and Darcy didn’t have one single inch of a plan for anything else. 

 

Pepper had made a case for grad school, when they were out on a trail ride. Darcy had wanted to go riding herself, to be grumpy and depressed where no-one could see her, but Pepper had been so emphatically tickled by the idea of coming with that Darcy hadn’t the heart to say no. Maybe Pepper just knew her step-daughter needed a little guiding hand; she’d told Darcy that she could pick any school she liked, any programme. Her grades had been good enough, she’d never struggled with school too much, she could go wherever she wanted. And if it didn’t work out, there was always Convergence to come home to. And Darcy knew that, appreciated the thought. It wasn’t that she hated the idea of grad school, just that she didn’t  _ want _ to go to grad school any more that she wanted to go anywhere else. 

 

She shivered in the cooling air, the wind was getting stronger and she’d been sat outside for a while doing nothing. She heard boots squelching through the muddy leftovers of snow behind her and turned to see her father, with a large fleece-lined coat hanging over his arm. With a warm smile he tucked the jacket around Darcy’s shoulders, leant his arms on the fence and stared out at the half-built structure. He made some small-talk, about how long the guys figured the marquee would take, to which Darcy gave a few monosyllabic answers and non-committal noises. 

 

“Look, Darce,” he started, scratching at his goatee, “I get that you’re bummed out, if you and Steve are finished with each other. It sucks, but I don’t want you getting too lost inside that head of yours.”

 

Darcy gave a bone-deep sigh, was she that obvious?

 

“You know he’s not the end of the world, right?” Tony asked. Darcy turned to look at him, a little insulted on Steve’s behalf, but her father continued, “I mean, we’re your family here, Darcy-girl. There’s no guy in the world who loves you more than your old man.”

 

She gave him a sad smile, “Aw, Dad. It’s not even that Steve dumped me. He was upset because he didn’t get the job, he wanted to brood on it for a while so I let him. He just, I dunno, stopped talking to me. Like I dumped  _ him _ or something.”

 

Tony mulled that over a little, adjusting his hat, “Some guys are like that. No closure. I used to be like that, when I was younger.”

 

“I didn’t think Steve would be.”

 

“Me neither, sweetheart.”

 

Silence hung between them a little, and they both watched an upper portion of the metal frame being hauled into the right place. Tony had had the thought that maybe Thor and Jane would want to make use of a non-religious wedding venue while it was there, but apparently neither felt a very pressing need to tie the knot just yet. Jane said after the baby was born. Which wasn’t until the end of summer at least so this thing would come down next week and his ranch could get back to normal. Except it wouldn’t be normal, would it? One of his ranch-hands, an irritatingly efficient and hard working one, would likely quit and head back east, leaving behind a mostly finished house and Tony’s heartbroken daughter. 

 

“Are you happy here, Darcy?” he asked, knowing that if she answered ‘no’ it would surely hurt but he wouldn’t - couldn’t - deny her the chance to be happy somewhere else. 

 

She frowned and admitted, “I don’t know. I’m not  _ un _ happy here.”

 

“But that’s not the same thing, is it?” he guessed, and Darcy shook her head no. “I know Pep talked to you about grad school, if you wanted that. It wouldn’t even have to be PoliSci, you could go study something different, I won’t mind.”

 

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know what I want. I don’t want anything.”

 

Tony looked up at her so sadly, like he could barely stand to know his daughter felt that way, and reached up to put his arm around her, “Aww, baby girl.”

 

“I don’t have to decide now, do I?” Darcy asked, turning herself back around and hopping down off the fence. 

 

“Of course not,” Tony assured, bundling her up in a tight hug. 

 

They stood there wrapped around each other for a good while but a ranch doesn’t have time set aside for cuddles, even badly needed father-daughter ones, and Tony’s phone started ringing shrilly from his pocket. He grumbled but pulled back and took the call. Then he lead Darcy back towards the house, “C’mon, we’ve got ranchers, cattle, and horses all to feed and your old man needs your help.”

 

***

 

Steve stubbornly forced himself to sleep on his right side, no matter how uncomfortable it got, because if he turned over he’d be facing the wardrobe where his dress uniform was hanging up waiting. It was still to be pressed, the shoes shined, and his medals were tucked away in their boxes. But they loomed like great shadows as he tried to sleep. Steve wasn’t even sure most folks out here knew he’d been in the army. Other than Ward and Rumlow once or twice, nobody asked him about it. Darcy and Tony gave him a lot of space in that regard. Maybe they were expecting a veteran to be prouder of the fact than Steve was. 

 

When he’d set out for Convergence, all those months ago, he’d thought twice about bringing the uniform at all. His mind had been halfway made up about just bringing his best suit and blending in with every other guy out here, leaving the weight of the medal in his bedside drawer in Brooklyn. But Sam would have known. Sam had seen his fair share of turbulence in the Air Force, lost friends, and was still wearing his uniform, wanted to stand by the altar with his back straight and his head high. He wanted Steve to do the same. Sam told him many times that feeling guilt, grieving the lives his took, was a positive sign. It made him a good man, Sam said, more than just a good soldier. But some nights it just felt like he was dragging a boulder around in his chest and the thought of wearing that medal in front of his friends and neighbours was just too heavy. 

 

But they wouldn’t be his neighbours for much longer, Steve supposed. After the wedding, the house would get done and he’d have to make his way back to New York, whether he liked it or not. Brooklyn was his home, and he knew there was nothing there that made him want to stay away exactly. But he had no plan for work or anything when he got back. If only he could just bring a little of Convergence back with him, or some of Brooklyn out here, things might make more sense. 

 

Through the thick silence of the middle of the night, Steve heard an odd noise. Like some little machine or other going off every few seconds. It paused for a while, then started up again. He sat up in bed, and peered through the curtains. But there were no lights of any kind by the west pasture, nor the roads leading to or from the ranch as far as Steve could see. And as the noise continued to chip away at whatever it was doing, he figured it was coming from much closer on the ranch. 

 

He got up and tugged on some clothes, not really caring enough to put on jeans instead of sweatpants, and crept downstairs. From the porch of the bunkhouse he saw that none of the other guys’ boots were missing but that there was light coming from under the closed door of the barn, and after listening for a few tense seconds he heard the noise again coming from the same direction. Steve looked up towards the main house but there were no discernable lights on there. 

 

Slowly, Steve stalked his way over to the barn door, shoulders filling with tension. He avoided the gravel path and made sure only to step on the soft grass and weeds growing at the edge, right up to the door. He listened hard as the noise stopped. He heard someone sigh, and some clicking, like a gun being loaded. Steve’s heart was in his throat as he decided what to do; someone was in their barn, possibly with a loaded weapon, doing god only knows what. That wasn’t the person to jump out at. But Steve couldn’t in good conscience go back to his bed without getting to the bottom of it. He begged the door not to creak as he pulled ever so slowly at the handle. In through the barely open door Steve saw a ponytail of dark curls in the orange light.

 

“Darcy?” he called, pulling the door right open. Which made Darcy shriek in surprise and turn around towards the door, accidentally firing off her air rifle and hitting an old metal oil lamp hanging from a beam. 

 

“Woah, woah! Easy!” Steve shouted in panic, the last thing he needed was for Darcy to shoot him. 

 

Darcy sagged in relief and lowered the airgun, pointing it down to the ground. “Fuck, Steve. What the hell are you doing creeping around like that?”

 

“I was gonna ask you the same thing - target practice in the middle of the god damn night?”

 

Darcy didn’t answer, catching her breath and waiting out the adrenaline. Steve looked further into the barn to where Darcy’s target actually was, and he found a page of yesterday’s newspaper pegged to a hay bale with red concentric circles drawn on in sharpie. It was peppered with holes where the pellets had hit, mostly about an inch or two left of centre. His girl was a better shot than he’d realised.  

 

He also realised that this was the first time they’d been alone in the same room for more than a week, and the first time he’d said more than a dozen words to her. He stepped fully inside the barn and closed the door gently behind him. He ran his hand through his bed-mussed hair while Darcy studiously went back to reloading the gun with pellets. 

 

“Does Tony know you’re doing this?” he asked. 

 

“Nope. And I’d appreciate it if he didn’t find out,” Darcy answered, stepping forward to face the target. 

 

Steve sighed, “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you again, Darce.”

 

“Damn straight, no-one’s gonna hurt me, Steve,” she bit out, lining up her shot. “You wanna know why? Here’s why.”

 

And with a hissing crack, she fired the gun and created a brand new hole in the target, dead centre. She fired twice more, hitting the centre circle each time. Steve watched her, flinching a little at each shot. She stopped. The gun was still loaded and she did not lower it. Something seemed to be in front of the target that only she could see. 

 

“No-one followed me that night. When I fell,” Darcy confessed, staring straight ahead. 

 

Steve nodded sympathetically, “My memory was fuzzy for a good while after the convoy too. It’s alr-”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Steve,” she interrupted. She set the air rifle down on a hay bale and turned to face him, one hand on her hip. “It’s not that I don’t remember Brock following me. I remember just fine and he wasn’t there.”

 

Steve frowned at that, it didn’t match anything that anybody else had said about the night after New Year’s. 

 

“Ugh, you’re as bad as Dad,” Darcy harrumphed. “Brock said he was in this barn. Well, I looked in here for Brock, and he wasn’t there. I don’t know where he was or how he found me but he’s lying to you guys. But everybody thinks I’m just remembering it wrong.” 

 

“I thought you went to scare off rustlers?” 

 

“Yeah, I did. I didn’t  _ want _ to go out there on my own, so I went looking for that lying ass Rumlow, and Ward, and they weren’t in here and they weren’t in the bunkhouse. But Dad doesn’t believe me, and he’s sticking both those guys on guard duty. It stinks.”

 

Steve mulled all that over a little, while Darcy seemed to run out of steam for target practice and started unloading the gun. That did smell kinda fishy; what reason would Brock or Grant have to lie about where they were that night? If they’d ducked out for a beer, they were allowed to do that. He couldn’t think of much that they could have been doing that would merit keeping it quiet, especially in the face of Darcy getting hurt. But if Brock wasn’t there, how’d he find her so fast? It was kind of confusing, never mind with a head injury muddling things up. 

 

Steve wanted to hug Darcy close to him, tell her it was all alright, but he didn’t think he deserved that. Here he’d been moping about having to split and leave her behind when she was trying to deal with the memories of her accident all by herself, with few people to believe in what she said. 

 

“Okay,” Steve muttered. 

 

“Okay?” Darcy spun around with surprise and suspicion all over her face, “You believe me?”

 

Steve nodded. “You believed me about those lights being somebody up to no good, and we were right.” 

 

She didn’t seem to know what to say, and fiddled with the canister of pellets. Steve folded his arms and sat back against one of the bales, clearing his throat. 

 

“I think I owe you an apology, Darce,” he started. “I know I’ve been an ass this last week, about the job, about when I’m gonna run out of work. None of that was your fault, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and I’m sorry.”

 

After a few empty seconds Darcy dropped the canister next to the gun and stepped close, resting her hands on his forearms. “Well, we knew it was going to happen eventually, you leaving. I guess I just kinda had my head in the sand about it, we should’ve talked more about what we wanted in the first place.”

 

Steve squirmed a little, “Is this you breaking up with me?”

 

“Do you want to break up?” she asked meekly.

 

“No.”

 

Neither of them really knew what to say to that. Both had been working under the assumption that the other wanted to pull away, so it might hurt less later on. But that wasn’t true. It would hurt whether Steve and Darcy’s last kiss was now or the day Steve got back on the train. He loosened his arms and slid his hands around Darcy’s waist, letting her into his embrace and taking a deep breath to smell her hair. 

 

“I like what we have,” Steve continued. “I want it to last as long as it can. I know there’s stuff we can’t change but…”

 

Darcy looked up at him and he lifted one hand to gently cup the back of her head, bringing her face close to his. 

 

“Let’s just,” he tickled his lips across hers, “make every second count.”

 

He kissed her gently, eyes slipping shut, and Darcy returned that kiss wholeheartedly. She pressed herself right up against him, as if it were not possible to be close enough, with her hands sliding up his back under the jacket. He scooped her up with the one arm, taking all her weight and tipping them backwards off the bale and into a large pile of hay. 


	14. Take You To The Other Side

Steve had never been to many weddings before. In fact, the only one he could remember going to was when he was eight or nine and a friend of his mother’s invited a lot of neighbours to her reception. He and Bucky had pretended to be secret agents or something, crawling underneath all the tables, until Steve’s asthma had acted up. 

 

He’d not felt that tightness in his chest for a long while, but this time it was down to nerves. Attending your first wedding as an adult and also the best man was a bit like being thrown in the deep end. He was just grateful that a marriage between an ex-Air Force Sergeant and a police officer meant everything was planned to within an inch of its life. People talked about brides being late but not Natasha.  Steve hadn’t been sure what to expect when she’d walked in; details of her dress had been kept secret from Sam, and Steve hadn’t been trusted with anything either. So both of them stood a little awestruck when she walked up the aisle. She walked by herself, in a knee-length dress frilled out with petticoats and lace over her shoulders. One of Natasha’s uncles - a hefty Russian man with a lot of tattoos - burst into tears. Sam’s mother had been subtly crying since breakfast. 

 

Some years down the line, if Steve were feeling brutally honest, he might admit to Sam that most of the actual wedding portion of his wedding would fall to the wayside of Steve’s memory. He would remember Uncle Ivan, and Natasha’s dress, and the way he had fumbled with the ring when trying to pass it to Sam, only to catch it in midair. But the nerves ate away at all other memory. He would forget entirely about his innocuously amusing best man speech. He wouldn’t remember who caught the bouquet, only that it wasn’t anyone he knew, nor would he remember what he had for dinner. No, Steve’s memory would only really start at a point well into the reception. 

 

Steve left Darcy at their table to sit with Jane, while he and Thor went back for another round of drinks - beer for the boys, a gin and tonic for Darce, and OJ for Jane. With dinner done and dancing underway, Jane was rapidly tiring. Or pretending so anyway, given how she grit her teeth every time one of Sam or Natasha’s well-meaning but nosy relatives looked down pointedly at her stomach. Jane’s baby bump had stayed pretty subtle so far, but was now quite obvious in the draping blue gown she wore and every aunt and grandmother in the vicinity couldn’t help but chime in. One woman had even had the audacity to boldly and plainly start feeling Jane’s stomach as if it was a crystal ball. Thor would probably take her home in another hour or so. 

 

But Darcy had been determined to dance Steve into the floor, even if it was just the old high school hold-and-shuffle this time. Steve told himself he was imagining the way Tony peered suspiciously at them whenever they stood fewer than eight inches apart, like he was deciding where exactly to hide Steve’s body. And now that his daughter was in one place, Tony made a beeline for the chair right next to her, with Pepper close behind. 

 

The barman placed their orders on the bar and Steve and Thor, almost simultaneously, took deep swigs of their drinks, before gathering up the other two and making their way back to their girls. 

 

Steve gave Darcy her drink and sat, draping his arm across the back of her chair and placing his hand over her shoulder, just where Tony could see his thumb stroking the bare skin. It wasn’t a revealing dress, but it was sleeveless and with much lower collar, front and back, than Darcy usually wore. Steve delighted at the way a loose curl came down from her pinned up hair and tickled between her shoulder blades. It held his gaze a little longer than it should. 

 

“Isn’t that right, Rogers?” he heard Tony ask, and he looked up with a mild sense of panic. Tony and everyone else at the table knew perfectly well he hadn’t been listening, and Steve belatedly realised their group had grown to include Maria Hill and Melinda May. He made a noncommittal humming noise and nodded faintly, entirely unaware of what he was nodding at. Thor chuckled at his expense. 

 

Tony shook his head and kept going, “so anyways…”

 

The man prattled on even more, and Steve managed to hold together some pretense of paying attention. His focus veered back to the exposed skin on the nape of Darcy’s neck, with occasional sips of his beer and some glances upwards for appearance’s sake. 

 

The marquee was a well-appointed thing with rich blue carpeting, twinkling fairy lights, and a transparent ceiling as well as windows through which the sunset had streamed beautifully earlier in the evening. Now, there wasn’t much beyond the glow of the moon and a few shadows of countryside. And on one of his little looks up, Steve spotted a light. Two lights. Like headlamps. 

 

Tony started telling some story which would undoubtedly end in a truly tasteless punchline. And Steve tried to orient himself. They were actually in the remnants of an old field, which had long since ceased to be useful, out past the bunkhouse and parallel to it. Which meant the way Steve was facing now was the same, more or less, as his bedroom. Steve’s guts suddenly turned cold.

 

He heard Tony’s punchline but didn’t laugh and stared hard over Stark’s shoulder. 

 

“Rogers?” Tony asked, looking at Steve with trepidation. He realised he must be frowning at the man, and looked away from the window. 

 

“Cattle are in the west pasture, right?” he asked.  Tony nodded tentatively, because what did that have to do with his brothel-parrot joke?

 

Steve just pointed over Stark’s shoulder to where the lights could be seen to the west, and Tony’s face dropped. Darcy tensed under Steve’s arm, and the whole table turned to stare out the window in terse silence. 

 

“Who’s at the bunkhouse?” Tony asked in a low, serious tone. 

 

Darcy answered, almost in a whisper, “Brock and Grant.”

 

The exact two guys who’d been AWOL when Darcy had been injured. The ones who had practically begged for guard duty when Tony had brought it up. The whole table was tense and silent. Steve looked at Tony, Thor looked at Melinda, Darcy looked at Maria. And Pepper prayed to whichever god was listening that her impulsive, action-driven family would be kept safe. 

 

They all had the same idea and sprung up from their chairs.

 

“What should we say to Sam and Natasha?” asked Thor. They looked to the happy couple currently swaying together off in one corner, kissing the smudges of cake off each other’s faces. 

 

“Absolutely nothing,” Tony answered. He turned and headed straight for the marquee doors, with the group one-by-one following in his wake. With a pleading look from Thor, Jane sat down and sadly watched them turn towards the door. Darcy followed, at least until the click of her heels on the ramp by the door betrayed her presence. Everyone stopped, just on the edge of the cool, quiet night, to stare at her. 

 

“Darcy, you stay here with Jane,” Steve placated, but was immediately met with a sour face as Darcy got all puffed up. 

 

“Jane’ll be fine. I wanna come with you.”

 

“It’s not safe,” Steve tried to place a comforting hand on her arm but she jerked away from him.

 

“Excuse you, I was the one who got closest to them before,” she pointed out, indignantly, then muttering, “if I hadn’t taken the twitchy horse…”

 

Steve opened his mouth to further convince Darcy to stay in the safety of the reception marquee but was none-too-gently pushed aside by Tony. He stood up straight and gently grasped his daughter’s upper arms, looking her dead in the eye. 

 

“I’m your father and you’re going to do as I say and stay here,” he growled, voice deep with serious authority, “The last time, they shot at you. They put you in hospital. I will  _ not _ let them anywhere near you again.”

 

Steve had heard Tony bark out orders, or pull rank but never like this and never to Darcy. And if it surprised Steve, it startled Darcy who took on an expression that might have also been on the six-year-old Darcy who got caught playing where she shouldn’t, or the sixteen-year-old Darcy who got caught sneaking back into the house. 

 

“You’re going to go back inside,” Tony affirmed, “and if anybody asks you can absolutely say that Daddy wouldn’t let you join the posse, understood?”

 

She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

 

Tony pressed a hard kiss to his daughter’s forehead and then spun back around to march towards the house. The others followed suit until Steve was the last man by the door; he came to stand close to Darcy, cupping her jaw in his hands gently. 

 

“Stay safe for me, please?” he whispered.

 

Darcy sighed in defeat, “Only if you do the same, got it?”

 

Steve nodded and softly set his lips on hers. She kissed back harder.

 

Once he caught back up with the others, hastily wiping the lipstick from his face, they were standing by the main house, huddled in a circle. 

 

“So what’s the plan?” he asked. 

 

“Darcy did get closest with Space. I say we get the horses and head on over there,” Tony said firmly, turning and marching over towards the garage. 

 

“How about we call the cops first?” Steve said, feeling immediately ridiculous as Maria and Melinda both raised their hands and pointed to themselves. They all followed at Tony’s heels as he opened up the key safe, but instead of handing out car keys, he grabbed the one labelled ‘gun case’ and spun back around to go inside the house. 

 

“You think that’s wise?” Thor asked.

 

“Hey, those guys already brought guns into it when they tried to shoot my daughter, so forgive me if I’m not feeling too generous,” Tony spat, rushing to the office. He flung open the doors of an armoire in the corner and revealed not wooden fixtures, but a glass and metal cabinet that had been built into the thing. He roughly shoved the key in the lock, which slid open a small panel just above it over which Tony placed his left thumb. After getting shot by his own foreman, Stark no longer took any chances or spared any expense when it came to gun safety. He grabbed two shotguns and tossed one to Thor and the other to Maria. 

 

“Get yourselves over to the stables and saddle up,” Tony ordered, “Thor, you know which horses; put May and Hill on Lola and Patsy. I’ll get your ammo.”

 

The two of them hurried back out. Steve was filled with dread that this was escalating far too quickly. 

 

“Tony?” he questioned, though Stark just plain ignored him and carried on sorting through the gun case. Stark passed a pair of pistols to Melinda, and took a single large revolver for himself, stuffing it into the belt of his suit for now. He picked one final handgun and, with a pointed stare, held it out for Steve.

 

“I know these aren’t your thing, Steve, but I don’t know how any of this is going to pan out. I need to trust you,” he admitted.

 

Steve stared down at the proffered weapon with a frown. 

 

“We’re not in a Western, Tony,” he said.

 

But Tony just looked down from Steve’s face to the medal adorning his chest; a silver star.

 

Stark just smirked and held the revolver higher, “high-ho, silver!”

 

Steve took the gun. 

 

Stark yanked the key from the lock and used it on a drawer in the big, oak desk where there were boxes of shells and bullets. He put one box aside, for Thor and Maria, and loaded his own gun. Melinda did the same and Steve, more gingerly, followed suit. Both Stark and May stashed extra in their clothes, and Steve felt fear run through his blood at the thought of emptying his gun because that would mean someone was on the other end. He loaded six shots and took no spares. 

 

When they left the house, they could see two horses ready to go - Dummy for Tony, Liberty for Steve, and Maria appeared out of the stables leading Lola up to Melinda. Steve was a little surprised to see ladies in silky party dresses gamely hoisting themselves up into the saddle, like they did this sort of thing every day, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. The seconds ticked by while they waited on Thor and Maria, all the while checking the horizon to watch the flickering lights. Whoever was out there had counted on everyone being too distracted at the wedding to notice the headlights of a big truck, or the lowing of the disturbed cattle. 

 

Maria left the stables atop a light bay mare - Patsy - who usually belonged to Sitwell, and brought her to stand at Stark’s side. Thor walked out holding Sleipnir by the reins, shutting the stable door afterwards. The draft horse towered above the others, a great grey mass that looked haunting in the darkness. Thor, even in half-mussed formal clothing, managed to haul himself into the saddle like it was the porch step. The height of the horse and the man made Steve think less of cowboys and more of Vikings. 

 

“All set,” Thor announced, firm and confident like he went into battle on horseback all the time. Stark reached into his pocket and tossed over Maria and Thor’s boxes of ammunition. The rattle of the bullets against the cardboard, and the metallic clicking of guns loaded seemed incredibly loud inside Steve’s head. 

 

Tony walked his horse on, heading out towards the trail that Steve and Darcy usually followed on Saturday afternoons. The route flashed through Steve’s head and he realised they would diverge from the path and go over backcountry, where their rustlers would not be expecting anyone to come from. Stark knew his own ranch far better than these interlopers and it made Steve unbearably glad that the older man was in charge of this ill-advised vigilantism. He tried not to think about the medal on his chest, or the army, or the rank of Captain.

 

“Just like old times, Rogers?” Tony joked, though the hint of nerves in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, “minus the horse, maybe.”

 

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn’t like old times, horse or not. But there was an undeniable familiar tension in the air that chilled him. The revolver in his belt felt like it would burn his skin just by being loaded. 

 

“God, I hope not,” he admitted, not just to Tony, to everyone. He looked dead ahead into the dark, “I killed twelve men that day. I shot a man in the head from ten feet away. Snapped a guy’s neck when my gun ran out.”

 

He knew everyone was listening hard, probably even the horses, making their own judgements.

 

“For good or ill, I gotta live with that for the rest of my days. I’m not looking to add to it now.”

 

“You were saving your friends, weren’t you?” Maria asked from just behind him, as if that made it all go away.

 

“Yeah,” Steve replied, “but I still did it.”

 

The silence was heavy as they headed further up the trail towards the pastures, but the lights got brighter and they could see the shadow of one man in the driver’s seat of a truck and two more riding around on horseback. There was a third horse tied to the truck, agitated and yanking at its reins. 

 

Tony had a kind of helpless look on his face, as if he hadn’t actually expected to get this far without being noticed, and Steve could see a strategy forming in his head without permission. He was saved from the weight of responsibility by Melinda who gestured to divide them up into pairs. She and Thor would tackle the guy in the truck, Steve and Maria would try to head off the men on horseback, and Tony was to keep the cattle in line while all this was happening. They urged the horses on a little, keeping out of reach of the lights and on soft grass to muffle the horses’ hooves, and crept up as close as they could behind a small hillock covered in bushy grasses.

 

They were nail-bitingly close and from there they could see just who they were dealing with. 

 

Justin Hammer in the truck. Rumlow and Ward on the horses. 

 

Steve had to fight down a hiss of betrayal and anger. Hammer had obviously been a no-good liar when Steve first laid eyes on him and if he was here, chances were good this was Alexander Pierce’s doing.  But Brock and Grant had worked alongside Steve - and Tony and Thor -  for months and, though they’d never been best buddies, it hurt that they’d do this. 

 

Tony practically ripped his pistol from the back of his belt and lined up a tentative shot. Melinda hissed at him not to be stupid and Stark pulled the gun away, turning towards her. 

 

“You better have a plan, because I know what mine is,” he snarled. “I can’t fucking believe I have to get stitched up by my own guys twice in one fucking lifetime!”

 

“Shh!” 

 

Everyone froze. Tony wasn’t as stealthy as he thought, and Rumlow and Ward had spun around, on alert, and were staring hard into the darkness. The truck’s lights only went so far and they were all hidden out of sight, but now they were being looked for, and Steve silently pleaded and begged the horses not to make a sound. 

 

Rumlow pulled a revolver from its holster and raised it up, the metal glinting in headlights. He pulled back on the hammer. 

 

Tony glacially cocked his own firearm, wincing and praying that the click wouldn’t carry. 

 

Rumlow didn’t react. 

 

To everyone’s horror, Dummy shook his head and snorted. Rumlow zeroed in on the direction, aiming his gun right at Tony whether he could actually see him or not. Stark pointed his gun straight back. The man was starting to sweat bullets. Liberty, of her own volition, decided to shift back from her place by Dummy’s side. But a white horse is more easily seen than any other, even in darkness, and Rumlow shifted his aim to his right and fired. 

 

The crack of the gun filled the entire landscape. Steve felt like he’d been kicked really hard in the ribs and his arm instinctively wrapped around himself. It was all he could do just to stay in the saddle as Liberty whinnied and panicked, turning away from the noise. The other horses spooked and turned too, or their riders turned them on purpose. Either way, their group began to scatter wider across the site than Steve thought was ideal. He took several deep, gulping breaths and brought his shaking hand up from his ribs: blood coated his palm, dark and slick in the low headlights. It wasn’t as much blood as he’d feared and the pain that throbbed up his side was not the same as what he’d felt before. 

 

He had no time to do much else other than swear and consider himself lucky not to be lying in the dirt with a hole in his head, because the action wasn’t going to stop for injury time. 

 

His raised his head in a flash at the sound of two more, simultaneous shots only to see that Thor and Melinda had shot out the truck’s tires. The front end of the vehicle now sank lower towards the ground and would not be moving any time soon. 

 

Hammer was trying to scramble up onto the horse still tied to the truck, with Melinda circling around beside him. The man saw her shadow and pointed a pistol waywardly out at the darkness. Another flash and a sharp bang and Hammer let out a squeal of pain, dropping his gun to cradle his hand to his chest. Stark rushed around from the other side of the truck and cracked Hammer hard in the back of his head with an elbow. 

 

“Steve!” Thor called, voice laced with concern. 

 

Steve whirled around, Liberty reacting like they were reading from a script, to see Rumlow and Ward galloping their horses off over the plain. Maria was trying hard to follow them and she would need their help. 

 

With a wince he urged Liberty on, the ride sending waves of discomfort across his ribs. He distantly heard the trilling sound of handcuffs being put on Hammer, and that Stark was corralling around the cattle. If they were going to spook and stampede, he just hoped it was in the opposite direction. 

 

Steve waved away Thor’s concern and the two made to hurry over the hill, into the night to give chase. He stared hard in front of him, willing his eyes to get used to the darkness. They caught up with Maria in short order. Rumlow and Ward got a good head start, the gap was closing but they’d known to gallop off in the direction that opened up onto public land and offered little in the way of fences to slow them down. If they got too far ahead and made it into the woods, chances were good that Steve and the others would lose them. 

 

Grant Ward had presumably not been in many gunfights or horse-chases before, and where Rumlow kept twisting and turning Ward rode straight, staying in Steve’s line of sight. Steve’s breath hitched as he kept the reins in his left hand and used the right to pull the gun and aim it right at the back of Ward’s head. 

 

“If you’ve got a shot, take it,” ordered Maria.

 

His hand wavered unsteadily. His finger over the trigger was weak and ineffectual. Bile rose in his throat. 

 

He shook his head and lowered his aim, pointing the gun towards Ward’s leg. Steve could feel the sweat forming on his brow. He pushed through the shaking of his hand and squeezed the trigger. 

 

Ward cried out and grasped his thigh.  The horse bucked with a shrieking whine, toppling Grant out of the saddle and onto the ground. Steve pushed down the guilty thought that he might have just killed the horse and let Maria rush over, dismounting to arrest Ward. She too had handcuffs, hers in the pocket of her denim jacket, and Ward was too busy covering his head from being trampled by Maria’s or his own horse to put up much of a fight. 

 

Once he was cuffed, Maria began putting pressure on the gunshot wound in his leg. Then she turned to Steve who was gaping at them, unable to look away. 

 

“Keep going!” she shouted, nodding towards Rumlow and Thor who was trying to follow. 

 

Liberty didn’t need much encouragement to keep running. She reached Thor and Sleipnir quick enough, and was slowly overtaking. Thor gestured off to the side, somewhere in the darkness that Steve couldn’t see, and that Steve should keep chasing straight. 

 

Thor pulled Sleipnir sharply off to the right, running full pelt around the hillside. That part of the path would lead out in front of their current one, if Sleipnir was fast enough, and he could cut Rumlow off. Time seemed to slow down as Steve realised he knew this part of the land from what little he could see, Darcy had shown him just how far the ranch extended by taking him around the periphery, and this was close to the edge of the forest. They hadn’t been in a while because - because there was a tree down! It blocked the way, and Rumlow didn’t know about it. Rumlow didn’t go riding for fun. He’d have to go directly to the path where Thor was cutting off escape or turn around and ride back past Steve. 

 

Steve stayed behind Rumlow, not trying to catch him anymore and just keeping the pressure up to keep the man riding full pelt. They approached the treeline at a mile a minute, descending the hill that would force Rumlow to make his choice. 

 

Brock either caught on to their plan or spotted Thor in the moonlight, and rather than heading into the thin trees he pulled hard in the reins and turned. He kicked the poor horse hard, urging it to head back up the hill. Steve wasn’t in much of a position to veer away, not without giving Rumlow a free shot in Steve’s back. He rode hard at Steve and there was a split second where he thought they were going to collide but Brock lifted his boot out of the stirrup and heavily kicked Steve’s rib cage. The blow rattled through him, throbbing at the wound on his other side, and he couldn’t keep from tipping sideways out of the saddle, landing in the grass with a weighty thump.

 

He let out a loud cry of pain as his flank hit the dirt, and curled his legs up by his body as Liberty kept right on going, galloping down into the trees without him. When she’d gone, he tried to prop himself up on one arm, then needed the other, but every attempt felt like a knife slicing into him. The pain burned all down his left side. He thought he might throw up. 

 

As he looked up he saw Rumlow slowing his own horse, before dismounting and slapping its hind quarters to send it careening headlong towards Thor and Sleipnir, who were still a good few hundred yards away. Brock turned sharply towards Steve and pulled a pistol from the back of his jeans, pointing it right between Steve’s eyes. 

 

“It’s nothing personal, Cap,” Brock snarled, his face manic and predatory. 

 

Steve huffed, wincing in pain, “It sure feels personal.”

 

It had been the unspoken rule, one Steve had once given himself, that if the enemy had you point blank you didn’t look away, let a man see who he was killing. But Steve’s body acted on its own, without that faintly remembered thought, and he screwed up his eyes. He turned his head as Brock pulled back the hammer.

 

Steve could hear nothing but his own blood rushing past his ears, then flinched at the crack of the gunshot. 

 

 

One gunshot, and a clatter of metal on the ground. 

 

A second shot, wetter. 

 

There was no more pain than before so Steve let out the breath he was holding and opened his eyes. He saw Brock wobbling on his feet, his face ghostly pale, with a big wet patch on his chest, an inky black colour in the night. His hand was still outstretched but burned and the gun was just a shadow lying in the scrubby grass a few yards over. Rumlow didn’t seem to see Steve anymore as he tipped backwards and landed flat on the ground with a thud. 

 

There were a few heartbeats where Steve felt he was stuck in a tunnel, just him and Rumlow lying in the dirt. But slowly, with each tense and pain-ridden breath, noise began to creep into the periphery of Steve’s perception. He heard the rumble of an engine and the flash of headlights being turned on made him wince. They illuminated the dew and the vibrant scarlet of blood on Brock’s shirt. Steve turned as much as he could, the skin on his side pulling tight and hot, and he saw the white truck he and Thor normally used, dinged and scuffed, with Darcy at the wheel. And practically hanging out of the passenger window and holding a smoking shotgun steady was Natasha, still in her creamy, lace-covered wedding dress. 

 

The truck skidded to a halt, churning up the wet ground on the hillside; Sam leapt out of the flatbed and ran over to Rumlow’s prone body, flinging another revolver out of reach and then applying pressure. Natasha climbed out through the truck’s window, marching over to the middle of the scene. Steve only faintly registered her voice, she wasn’t talking to him, she was calling someone by the name of Fury on her phone. He could see her boots, not the ivory satin peep toe things she’d had before but hardy cowboy boots that most definitely belonged to Darcy. 

 

“Steve! Steve! Are you okay?” Darcy called, skidding to a halt in her strappy heels and dropping down beside him in her fancy dress, “are you hurt?”

 

Steve nodded tensely and brought the hand cupping his side up to reveal fresh blood, “Fuck, it hurts.”

 

Darcy’s hair flipped as she looked back to Natasha on her phone, requesting back-up and an ambulance or two, and Sam was still leaning over Brock’s motionless form. She pressed a tight kiss to his forehead

 

“It’s going to be okay, Steve. Help’s coming, okay?” she assured him, her voice becoming not a little frantic. She petted the side of his hair and stroked his cheek. Steve started to become aware of just where he was, lying in a meadow in the night, staring up at a starry sky. He felt the cold air on his skin and the damp grass under his body. He heard horses whinnying somewhere not too far. He saw the puffs of his and Darcy’s breath. And he realised just how very far away from the house, the road, he actually was. Darcy’s skin looked so pale, illuminated by nothing more than headlamps and moonlight. 

 

“I love you,” he said, the pain starting to make him shiver. God, it hurt. He had barely felt his injuries from the road bomb until much later but now it was like electric shocks twitching down his muscles. 

 

“Steve,” Darcy whispered, eyes watering, “I love you too.”

 

He managed a weak smile through the pain, and sent a few aimless kisses to Darcy’s mouth. He shut his eyes, and rested his forehead against hers, and whispered, “Please keep me.”


	15. Out There I Found A New Home

_ Late Summer.  _

 

The white truck churned up the dirt as it turned off the main road out of Convergence and onto the road that would lead to the Lone Star Ranch. It was no less dented than ever but it had been washed and vacuumed for its occupant’s inaugural visit. It was a three hour drive to the nearest airport but Thor had bristled at the very idea of anything less than picking his mother up personally. 

 

The journey would probably have to be made again in a few weeks’ time to collect the Lone Star’s three newest employees: James Barnes was going to lend a hand, Clint Barton was going to lend two. And Lucky was going to excel in the newly created position of Ranch Guard Dog. First job they’d all get would be making the bunkhouse their own. With two previous employees facing lengthy prison sentences, and a captain who spent his invalidity in the main house, that old home needed some new faces. 

 

But that would come after; for now Steve sat atop Liberty, with Darcy in the saddle right in front of him. Both of them watching Frigga and Thor trundle home across the pot-holed road, from the top of the ridge that overlooked the entire sun-soaked valley. It was getting late in the afternoon, and if they took much longer they’d be late for the party; a cookout for friends and family, and for Frigga to cuddle her granddaughter. Little Ruth was a couple of weeks old and garnered an inordinate amount of attention. The ranch hadn’t seen an infant at all since Tony had been born - Darcy hadn’t set foot on it until she was eight - and now the ranch and half the town acted as though they’d never seen a baby before. 

 

Steve didn’t mind. It meant he and Darcy could slip out unnoticed and go for prolonged trail rides wherein, just as now, she could cuddle up to him and he could kiss up and down her neck. 

 

She hummed pleasantly as he pressed butterfly kisses to the hollow of her collar line, “This is nice.” 

 

“I figured you’d need a break from… everything,” he said. The day so far had been, well, a day. Even a small get-together couldn’t be pulled off on this ranch without a lot of fuss and organising. 

 

“It’s Thor and Jane’s day, let ‘em have it. Jane wants to wait until Ruthie gets a little older before they have a wedding, so this is their chance to celebrate. I just wish Dad wouldn’t go so cock-a-doodle-doolally over everything. I mean, who needs a keg of beer at a party for a baby?” she said, clearly exasperated at her father’s escalation of just about everything. 

 

“He’s excited.”

 

Darcy muttered something about hoping that her father wasn’t getting any ideas and set Liberty to walk slowly homeward. Vibrant blue sky arched overhead for miles as they meandered down the trail, with the sun warming their backs and hardly a cloud in sight. Steve loved riding with Darcy, with her in the front of the saddle and taking the reins. She was by far the better rider and he really loved being able to hold her waist, rest his chin on her shoulder, put his hand on her thigh, and not worry a damn what the horse was doing. 

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Darcy said, in that lilting voice meant to entice and supplicate. 

 

“Uh-oh,” Steve teased, nuzzling into her hair. Darcy elbowed him in the ribs. 

 

“I was thinking about grad school, actually. I liked school, you know. I just wasn’t that great at deciding where it ought to be taking me.”

 

“Yeah? What would you do?”

 

“Go back and get my masters. I could get a doctorate!”

 

Steve made a considering sort of noise, “Dr Lewis, huh? Or Dr Stark, do you wanna be? Dr Darcy Stark-Lewis. Dr Mrs Steve Rogers.”

 

“Pfft! I don’t think so!” Darcy said, giggling and swatting at Steve’s arm around her waist. He paid her little mind and kept muttering titles into her ear, in between kisses. “Well, maybe I’ll change my mind about going to Columbia.”

 

Steve stopped and pulled back. He looked down at her, unsure if he even heard her right. “Columbia? You want to go to New York?”

 

“Yeah, I know this guy, you see, he’s  _ from _ New York. I’d want to go be with him.”

 

“Oh, is that so? Good-looking guy?”

 

“He’s not bad,” Darcy shrugged. 

 

“Jealous type?”

 

“Oh yes, and he’s a war hero too.”

 

Steve huffed, “I’m not a war hero, Darce.”

 

“And I’m not Dr Mrs Rogers.”

 

“Seriously, though? You’d go to New York? With me?

 

Darcy turned her head back to look up at him, “Yes, Steve. This place, this ranch is my home,” she said, nodding to the expanse of sun-bathed land, “and you’re part of that now, so it’s only fair for me to go be part of your home, for a while at least. I want to do that.”

 

Steve stared at her, lost for words. God, this woman. 

 

Liberty turned down a hill, bringing their homely cluster of farm buildings back into sight. The bunk house had been repainted and the tool shed, which once overlooked a makeshift shooting range, now stood beside a neat little vegetable garden. Thor was helping his mother out of the truck, and he paused to wave and holler at them in the distance. Darcy was right, Steve thought to himself, this was really starting to feel like home. 

 

“I might not even get in,” Darcy said, maybe thinking his silence meant he wasn’t keen on the idea. 

 

“You’ll get in,” Steve said, full of conviction that his girl could do anything she set her mind to. Though he may have to break it to her that she couldn’t ride a horse to class in New York. He tucked Darcy’s hair back off her neck and kissed her soft, pale skin.

 

“It’d be next fall,” Darcy explained, “not this year. So we have a good while for here to be home, for both of us.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Darcy blushed and a beaming smile spread across her face, “I love you too.”

 

Steve let out a satisfied hum, “Okay. Next year, New York. This year we have to show Bucky and Clint how to be ranchers.”

 

“And Lucky!” Darcy gasped, sitting upright in the saddle. “We never had a dog before. What the hell kind of ranch are we, with no dog? Although, I guess we’re not a ranch anymore, maybe we’re the Lone Star Home for Lost New Yorkers?”

 

Steve chuckled, “Clint’s from Iowa.”

 

“I thought you said he was from Bedford-Stuvi… Stovies…”

 

“Stuyvesant,” Steve corrected. “Just say Bed-Stuy. And that’s where he lives, it’s not where he’s from.”

 

“Pedant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after! Ç______Ç
> 
> I can't actually believe I've gotten to the end. I might cry. When I started writing this it was just an exercise to see if I could do any better than the print novels I was reading. I never even thought I'd finish it, never mind upload it and have people enjoy it. 
> 
> I want to say a big thank you to readbycandlelight who is the most wonderful, patient, helpful beta this nerd could ask for. Also thank you to everyone who commented - you kept my spirits up when I doubted myself! 
> 
> Before anyone asks, I don't plan to write any kind of multi-chapter sequel. I've already done two (connected) little snippets on tumblr and any more that crop up will be posted there rather than AO3. I would be beyond happy if anyone wanted to pop over to my tumblr (also nemhaine42) and discuss the fic or the world-building. Art will probably happen too. There's a tag page on my blog where you can find all posts relating to 'Johnson County Blues.'
> 
> *cries*

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on my tumblr (also nemhaine42) if you want to talk, and also for fic extras.


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